Continued

"Can I do anything?" I look up at him, leaning against the sink, not even looking at me. He asked because he's *supposed* to ask, it's the polite thing to do, not because he really wants to do anything for me. He wants me to say no. I briefly consider saying yes, asking him to make me some tea or get a cool cloth for my neck. Instead I moan "no" into the toilet bowl. He looks at me as he straightens, I know I look awful, my pajamas have stains on them, I haven't washed my hair in days, my skin looks like hell. "It's just morning sickness," he says over his shoulder as he leaves my tiny bathroom, not even big enough for a tub. "I'm heading to work. And, ah, you know how tired you are at the end of the day. I probably won't be stopping by this evening. You know, let you get some rest. So I'll see you tomorrow night?" It's not really a question so I don't really answer. I hear the door close as I fill the toilet and empty my stomach once again.

*  *  *

I bury my face in my pillow as another wave of nausea hits me. I swallow hard. Morning sickness isn't supposed to be this bad, is it? It isn't supposed to last this long, right? All the blogs and mommy-pages I read  said that it should be over by the end of the first trimester, I'm well into my fourth month, shouldn't I be feeling better? I know that I should go to a doctor, find a doctor to go to, but I just don't have the money. And I'm not likely to make enough money if I have to keep calling in sick to work. For that matter, I'm not likely to have a job for long if I keep calling in sick. I yank the blanket over my head, not wanting to think about such things but it doesn't help. 

"I could ask Sam for the money for a doctor's visit," I think to myself, before quickly dismissing the idea. i don't want to ask Sam for money, he's been distant anyway, I don't want him to pull away even more. He was so excited when I first told him that I was pregnant. That surprised me. In fact, I'd waited two months to tall him because I was so afraid that he'd be mad at me, think that I was trying to "trap" him. I'd thought about an abortion but remembered that he didn't believe in "those things", so I bit the bullet and told him. He was so excited, excited about "Samuel Jr." (God, I hope it's a boy). But now, since I'd been so sick, he seemed to want nothing to do with me. 

"He'll be excited again once I start feeling better. He just doesn't like to see me not feeling well, that's why he doesn't come see me much anymore," I told myself, as I drifted off to sleep.