“Ohhhhh myyyyyy,” I say, sitting back down in bed. It’s past four in the morning.
“Urgh,” I say again, but MindReader sleeps on. I wake up the cat and cuddle him for five minutes before turning out the light.
“I was ill in the night,” I say to MindReader at 7am.
“I was being sick from two til three and diarrhoea from three til four.”
“Oh dear,” MindReader says mildly.
I think of the entire day at work which lies ahead on so little sleep. “I don’t even feel like coffee,” I say.
“I’m not surprised. Come to think of it I did hear a noise last night.”
I blush, thinking of my foul wretching, cursing the three-day-old takeaway I ate two hours previously.
“I feel sick again. God, you don’t think I’m pregnant do you? That dress was tight on my boobs the other day, too!”
MindReader stares at me. “It’s morning sickness, not night time shitting.”