The early days -premeds- were the worst.
On one particularly terrible day, having had 5 'spells' in an hour, I called in sick and planned to spend the day in bed, garbage bin at my side.
By around 10:30am I had finally fallen back to sleep, only to be woken up by, you guessed it, my MIL. She had come over to take the dog for a walk.
So, there I am in a tank top and undies, in bed, sleeping and totally green. Most people would ask if I needed anything and then leave. My MIL sits on the end of my bed and starts telling me some 'enthralling' story about one of her neighbours or clients or how the Emperor of China's daughter isn't getting ultrasounds so maybe I shouldn't either or something.
Halfway through this fascinating tale I start retching again. She keeps talking, only louder to be heard over my heaving.
Laying halfway off my bed with my head in the bin, having just performed a spot-on impression of the Exorcist, she asks 'Are you listening to me?'
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