I’m 6 days into the vomit bug from hell and feeling like death is imminent. This is with Zofran, Phenergan and a tanker of Gatorade at my side.
I have a new appreciation for those people in “Love and Cholera.”
All they had was love.
My son came down with this virus two weeks ago. It was the first time he’d thrown up in his young life, so naturally he was terrified. He looked at me with sheer panic as the volcano rumbled inside of him.
I cuddled him and shushed him – as my former-marine husband gagged his way through the clean-up. No amount of doomsday prepping could have prepared him for that natural disaster.
How did it get on the ceiling?
If you know me, you know my one big fear in life – next to like… losing a family member to cancer – is barfing.
I hate it.
I would rather lay in agony, with pneumonia, in a hospital bed for days, than throw up even just once.
But something magical came over me that night, and I just didn’t give a shit.
So I slept with Colt in my arms – soothing him, rocking him.
Now I’m rethinking my actions…slightly. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him cough in my mouth.
Regardless, here we are on day 6.
I haven’t done my hair, worn a cute outfit or painted my nails in a week.
I’ve tried not to go outside very much, but I have taken the dog out a couple of times. I keep running into my perfectly posh gay neighbors who now think I’m on meth.
Speaking of, I’ve been watching a lot of TV the last few days – either Real Housewives or those Women-in-Prison shows (I like to cover all socio-economic classes.)
Halfway through a “Breaking Down the Bars” marathon on OWN, I got up to use the restroom for the 12,000th time and looked
in the mirror. I realized….I am one of them.
I took this picture to prove it.
Take away the cardigan, earrings and mascara, and I’m an inmate.
I managed to clean the bathroom floor this week – my one domestic accomplishment.
I really had no idea how disgusting the baseboards were until I was down there staring at them for so long.
And I never thought I’d poop my pants at 30, but that happened too. Mortified, I told Todd what happened. He shrugged and said he didn’t care.
Why is it when you haven’t eaten in 3 days, buttered toast tastes like filet mignon?
I just took down a plain baked potato like it was lobster tail. Holy crap, that was delicious.
Applesauce for dessert. Yessssssss.
I guess the upside of this Puke Fest, is that it’s really made me appreciate all I have in my life.
My precious baby boy. My husband. My access to delicious food and prescription drugs. Continence.
Oh, and I’m down 7 pounds (which otherwise would have taken at least 12 months of intense gym training.)