In the wee hours of this morning, I decided that entering the second trimester of pregnancy must be something like recovering from a three-month hangover. (NOT THAT I WOULD KNOW about real hangovers, understand. I’ve only read about them, and P. G. Wodehouse’s descriptions are among the best.) To quote Bertie Wooster after drinking one of Jeeves’ legendary pick-me-ups:

For perhaps the split part of a second nothing happens. It is as though all Nature waited breathless. Then, suddenly, it is as if the Last Trump had sounded and Judgment Day set in with unusual severity.

Bonfires burst out in all parts of the frame. The abdomen becomes heavily charged with molten lava. A great wind seems to blow through the world, and the subject is aware of something resembling a steam hammer striking the back of the head. During this phase, the ears ring loudly, the eyeballs rotate and there is a tingling about the brow.

And then, just as you are feeling that you ought to ring up your lawyer and see that your affairs are in order before it is too late, the whole situation seems to clarify. The wind drops. The ears cease to ring. Birds twitter. Brass bands start playing. The sun comes up over the horizon with a jerk.

And a moment later all you are conscious of is a great peace.

I won’t say that my experience has been that dramatic, but yesterday I realized something; I can walk past the laundromat with its detergent smells, the bus with its exhaust fumes, and the oriental store with its odd aromas without holding my breath. I can even smell The Stench without wishing to curl up and die. All in all, I think life is worth living–not just surviving–again.

And if you haven’t read Wodehouse’s books about Bertie Wooster and his valet, Jeeves, you are missing one of life’s simple pleasures. Don’t miss this one of life’s simple pleasures, y’all! Someday you might need to know what it feels like to get one Jeeves’ pick-me-ups.

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