Not pregnant

I've gotten into the habit of monthly bouts of nausea.  For the past few months--fiveish to be vaguely more precise--I have found myself sick to my stomach for a day and a half to two and a half days.

And no, I'm not pregnant.

And herein lies the inherently problematic combination of marriage and nausea.  It mandates an awkward assurance that the violent convulsions from your digestive track have not been brought on by a rush of hormones due to your body's sudden voluntary creation of a nine month parasite.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm excited to have kids.  Eventually But my stomach's rebellion against all sustenance this weekend, while the timing clearly ties it somehow to marrying Man, has nothing to do with a future mini-Lui.

This lack of digestive fortitude is still, though, blamable on Man.  It did, after all, only start after we were hitched.  So whether it's due to Man's cooking or due to some internal clock that realizes that small humans are now possible and is consequently shifting my hormone levels, it all comes back to him.  Yep, blame the husband.

Just kidding about the cooking, though.  He is, as you well know, the son of a Chinese chef and thus well taught.  Definitely will never complain about Man's efforts in the kitchen.

All the same, I'm inclined to repurpose a [No] Vacancy (with the No very clearly unlit) sign to avoid situations like this:

Friend from church: Hey!  Where's Megan?

Man: She stayed home.  She has an upset stomach.

Friend: ....

Man: ....?

Friend: .....

Man: .....???

Friend: You do know that "stomach bug" is a polite way to say she's pregnant, right?

Man: Oh.  Well, I suppose there is a 3% chance of that.


And no, this is not some funny way of announcing that I'm pregnant.  Vacancy, folks.  Vacancy.