So there we are, with Pär putting an egg in a pot of cold water and turning on the heat, while I go off to run errands.

When I came home a couple hours later, the fan was on full blast and there was an icky burnt smell all over the kitchen. "What happened?" I asked my man, who was sitting innocently at the computer at the other end of the apartment.

"There's been an accident," he told me, looking abashed. "I was on the computer while the egg was boiling, and I sort of lost track of time. And then I heard a HUGE explosion in the kitchen. I've never heard anything that wasn't actual explosives make that big a sound. It was louder than any fireworks I've ever heard."

He paused, distracted. Pär gets very excited about explosives. I waited patiently until he returned to the point.

"So I went into the kitchen. The pot was still on the stove, but the egg wasn't in it anymore. There was boiled egg on the wall, though."

"Oh my god."

"That isn't all," he continued humbly. "There was egg everywhere. I found egg behind the fridge. There was half an egg stuck to the ceiling. I tried to get it all off, but it still smells pretty bad in there."

The echoes of morning sickness stirred inside me. Think of snow, I told myself. A wide open field of fresh cold white snow, and I'm lying in it making snow angels. Everything is cold and pure and clean... My stomach settled down.

"Okay," I said. "I think that in penance, you should..."

Pär finished the sentence. "...I'll clean the kitchen. Definitely."

And he will, too; I believe him. He's very good about doing that. Only it might take him A WEEK TO GET AROUND TO IT. Meanwhile I can't walk into the kitchen without feeling sick. Friday night was the worst, though. Pär brought home a bouquet of flowers which I forgot to put in water until after dinner. (I had requested Taco Hell, and Pär is in "Give the crazy pregnant lady what she wants" mode, so that's what he brought home.) At that point, I went to get a vase for them. Both our vases were in use, filled with the lavender that Allison and Troy gave us a few weeks ago, but that's starting to shed little purple buds all over the place now so I took one bunch out of a vase and threw it away. To my surprise, I found that the stems were wet.

"I didn't realise you'd put the lavender in water," I said. "I thought they were drying out in there."

"It's... special water," said Pär.

"What's so special about it?" I asked, as I carried the vase into the kitchen to dump it out in the sink.

"It's special because it's been sitting there unchanged for a few weeks," he said, just as I tipped the vase over. Out poured a flood of putrid, brownish liquid. The smell of rot filled the air. I shoved the vase at Pär and ran for the bathroom.

Afterwards, Pär was contrite, repeating his intention to clean the kitchen. I was dejected.

"I thought I was past the throwing up stage," I said miserably.

"Tonight was an exception," he reassured me. "It was your stomach correcting a grave error you had made."

"What error?"

"You thought that Taco Bell was a legitimate meal," he said. "Your stomach, however, knew that it was utterly disgusting crap, so it rejected it."

I know that puke-stories are not really all that delightful to read, so I will close by adding only one comment, and that is this: I've been referring to Taco Bell as "Taco Hell" for a long time now. But not until I threw up three tacos did I learn the true meaning of that term. My advice to all pregnant women: drop the chalupa. If you've got a craving for fast food, go the Mickey D's route. Their strawberry milkshakes, previously unappealing to me, have become pure manna from heaven. Even when you can't manage to eat anything else, you can get down a yummy shake. It may not be nutritious, but it'll make you feel better.