Sweet Little Thing(17)

I heard a small, sickly voice coming from the bathroom behind me. “I’m here.” I turned and saw Mia hanging over the toilet. She was pale and her eyes were bloodshot.

“Oh baby, what happened?” I started panicking. “What is it?”

She looked up at me with a painful smile. “I feel like… I feel like, remember that time when you bet Tyler you could drink a fifth of vodka and still play ‘Voodoo Child’ without missing a note?”

“Yeah, I did, twice, with my eyes closed, and I sang it too. I won a hundred bucks. I felt great.”

“No.” She paused to dry heave. “Remember how you felt the next morning? Remember, you thought you were dying? You made me write a letter to your family.”

“Oh yeah, I felt like shit.”

“That’s how I feel.”

“Really? That bad, huh? I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, baby, you look like death warmed over.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re still beautiful. It’s just, there’s this green tint to your skin.” When she dry heaved again, I asked, “Should I call a doctor? You’re gonna be one very unhappy bride on Saturday if you’re still feeling this.”

“I know. Just call Martha. I’m pretty sure I’m okay. I think I’m experiencing that phenomenon known as morning sickness.”

I kissed her on top of the head. “I’ll call her right now.” I walked into the bedroom, picked up our landline, and dialed Martha.

She didn’t even say hello. “Is she having morning sickness?” The sixth sense thing was getting creepy.

“Yeah, she’s in the bathroom, throwing up. She doesn’t look so good.” I went back to the doorway of the bathroom and found Mia hunched on the floor.

“You need to get some food in her.”

I held the phone away from my ear and said, “You want me to make you some eggs, baby?”

“No!” Mia and Martha both shouted.

“What should I make her?”

“Just get her some crackers or dry toast. She may need to sleep with crackers and water on the nightstand. She should never let her stomach go empty. Nothing will sound good to her if she lets it get to this point. Make her eat some crackers and drink some club soda if you have it. I’ll be over in a bit.”

“Thanks, Martha.”

“Of course, dear.”

Mia was still on the bathroom floor moaning when Martha arrived. She walked in with a satchel full of natural remedies. She had ginger and peppermint tea and some aromatherapy candles and creams. After laying each item on the kitchen bar, she finally addressed me.

“Will, I think it’s important that you’re involved in every phase of the pregnancy with Mia. Here are some items that should help. I have to get to Kell’s.”

Mia moaned loudly from down the hall before yelling, “No, Martha, you have to stay.”

“Yeah, I think you should stay. I don’t know what to do for her.”

“That is your baby she’s carrying inside her. That is your baby making her sick.” She pointed to the items on the counter again and said, “Figure this stuff out.”

I stood there stunned as I watched Martha walk hurriedly to the door and leave. I moved with trepidation down the hall. Mia was now lying on a stack of towels, curled up in the fetal position.

“Baby, let me get you into bed.”

“Uh uh. I think I’m gonna be sick again.”

“I’ll bring you a bowl. You can’t be comfortable like this.” I helped her to her feet and into our room, and then I pulled the covers back for her to slide into bed. “I’ll bring you some toast and tea.”

When I came back, she was sleeping soundly. Poor girl had probably been up since four a.m. I left the tray of toast and tea on the bedside table and proceeded to light a few candles. After calling the studio and letting them know I would be in late, I plugged my headphones into my iPod and put on the album Veneer by José González. I rested the headphones on Mia’s belly and proceeded to have the first music lesson and heart-to-heart with my unborn child.

“Listen, kid, you can’t be making your mom sick all the time. Here’s some soothing music to calm you both.” When I kissed her belly, she stirred a bit and then opened her eyes.

“Toast,” she mumbled.

“Sit up, Mia.”

She sat up, grabbed the piece of toast from my hand, and shoved it into her mouth ravenously.

“Slow down, you’re gonna make yourself sick again.”

“I’m starving,” she grumbled through a mouthful of bread. She took three tiny sips of ginger tea, closed her eyes, and fell asleep again.

I spent the rest of the morning lying next to her in bed. I read the first several chapters of What to Expect When You’re Expecting and The Birth That’s Right for You.

Later that day when she finally woke, her eyes shot open. She looked at me curiously as I stood over her with my arms crossed.

“Have you been taking your folic acid?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, looking confused.

“And you know that when you have a headache, you cannot take ibuprofen?”

“Okay.”

“And no hot baths, no sushi, no unpasteurized cheese, and absolutely no alcohol!”