Several weeks ago, I read a blurb that, for those born in 1973, Red Roof Inn is offering, on the birthday night, a stay for $19.73 (40 years ago, the year they opened). Happily, Charlottesville has a Red Roof Inn, and it wasn't graduation week or sometime when it would have been full to capacity. So Phil headed up for a night with a bathtub while I stayed with the boys with chicken pox.
The boys and I had a good time watching (again) the dance scenes from Strictly Ballroom and Legally Blonde in its entirety, my two feel-good-while-feeling-pregnant movies.
Phil purchased a jar of bath salts and soaked repeatedly in the tub. When he left in the morning, he said he had no more towels or washcloths or anything else. The tub had an orange ring. The bath salts were gone. And he was so relaxed and detoxified he could hardly move all day. His muscles had turned to jelly.
He had been fighting a sinus infection for several days, so to spend some time just letting his nose drain and his body rest was really restorative.
Definitely Phil's idea of fun.
When he came home, he showed me his hands. They were pink. By comparison, I held up my hand. It was yellowish-orange. When not overlaid with Virginia soil, I naturally have a more pink complexion. It was a bit shocking just how dirty I am at the pore level.
In other news, Phil's parents have gone away for a few days to visit another relative. Within twelve hours, there I was, throwing up again. It was quite discouraging. Though I haven't necessarily felt much better while they were here (I wasn't getting out of bed to work or clean, for example), I had a full week where I kept all food down. I hate retrogression. Fie!
To ease the parting, Ken bought his grandsons root beer float fixings. The boys are in heaven. A teacup is about the largest cup we have, so they don't get a massive quantity at any one time. Every time Phil would go in to wash his hands or get a drink today, the boys would ask, "Can we have more root beer float?"
Yesterday Phil found my box of maternity clothes, well buried in the storage trailer. I remember with the first pregnancy, I was still wearing my regular clothes at four months, a bit embarrassed at how much my belly was sticking out (an extra inch perhaps?). Ha! I was grateful to make it to eight weeks in regular jeans this time, and since I haven't gotten out much the last month or so, I've made do with yoga pants and boxers. But when even regular shirts start to get a bit restrictive, it's time and past time to move to maternity clothes. I am just about done with the first trimester.
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