I’ve been spending a lot of quality time with my computer in the middle of the night over these last few weeks. Being startled awake by a river of acid rushing up one’s throat and threatening to spill out of the mouth onto the bed sheets is on par with being forced out of sleep by dreams of falling off of tall buildings. How is it that carrying a tiny human inside of one’s body can wreak such havoc?
My fear of the dreaded acid reflux monster has begun to affect my desire to feed myself. Even food that looks delicious and smells even better holds very little attraction for me. I can’t imagine what those poor women who puke for months at a time during pregnancy go through: vomit is infinitely worse than piping hot acid. Unfortunately for me, the little munchkin needs to be fed via my digestive system, so I eat a bit here and there.
Those two little meatballs and their tiny bit of marinara sauce that I ate nine hours ago are probably to blame. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the big ol’ ice cream cone I had shortly after that. Nothing that delicious, eaten outside on a bench with a warm breeze blowing around me, could turn into the evil monster of acidic doom that is currently ravaging my body. Nope. I shall not believe it was the ice cream cone.
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4 years ago