I am a firm believer that. on occasion, the universe will do a weensy shimmy shake to throw me off balance. Enough to knock me down. Long enough to take a rest. This is after my stubborn nature ignores physical, mental and emotional signs that it's time to take a break. Rest for a day or two. Treat myself to a 24 hour social detox. Sleep.
I'm stubborn.
Our weekend went as planned. For the most part. I dedicated a good portion of two days prepping for Lisa's surprise birthday party at a friend's house. Weeks of planning. We were finally down to the last two days. Food prep. Lots. I was exhausted. Attempting to shrug off jilted notions that things probably wouldn't go as planned.
And, they didn't. I was at my wits end. Too much money. Too much food. Too much time spent. Enough said.
The following day, Sunday, I worked. Drank coffee. Ate. Went about our typical routine. I felt slightly rundown, but I attributed that to exhaustion. Frustrations. Disappointment.
Later that evening, after tucking Lisa and the kids in, I continued my work. I had fallen behind. Too much time doing that instead of this. I started feeling nauseous. I took a few Tums. Chewed peppermint gum. Ate a piece of dehydrated, sugared ginger. That usually does the trick.
Not. This. Time.
An hour later, I moved to the sofa. Reclined. Beads of sweat formed on my upper lip and forehead. But, I was determined. I. Was. Not. Going. To. Throw. Up. I would do cartwheels down the street naked if I had to. I'm one of those humans who will swim oceans and crawl miles of desert to avoid praying to the porcelain goddess.
My determination and efforts did not trump whatever it was that was brewing inside of my body.
An hour later, it happened. I did not make it to the bathroom. I will leave it at that.
For the next 6 or so hours, my body uncontrollably retched. Angry. Blood vessels burst in my face causing bright red blotches. My ribs felt as if they had snapped in half. I peed myself several times. It frightened me.
I woke Lisa up around 2:30 in the morning. She took one look at me and the color drained from her face. Panic. Emergency room? More Tums? Ginger-Ale?
At this point, the kids sensed something too. Instead of remaining nestled in their blanket bungalows, as they do when Lisa gets up throughout the night to pee, they rushed to the living room and jumped on the sofa.
"Mommy, what's wrong. What's happening."
After I convinced Lisa it wasn't necessary to drag my ass to the emergency room, she sped to the store to fetch Gatorade and Ginger-ale. The kids remained on the sofa. On my lap. Chest. Coco continuously licked my face.
They. Just. Know.
Yesterday and today, I've been on the mend. The worst of the worst has passed. But, as many humans have warned, once the explosive and uncontrollable retching ceases, expect every ounce of energy to be drained from your body for the next few days.
That's exactly what happened.
I didn't bake yesterday. Or today. Lisa, after getting home from work, assisted with making a batch of homemade vegetable soup.
By assisted, I mean she took over after I sliced a carrot and said, "I need to rest now...."
Where I went, the kids went. For the past 2 days, they haven't barked incessantly at squirrels farting or the neighborhood kids screaming like pubescent banshees outside our windows. They curled up beside me. On me. They. Just. Knew.
Our kids are awesome like that. Coco is the one to dole out the most juicy kisses. Whether it's PMS tears or pale face, he licks. Sophie doesn't give "normal" kisses. She puts her nose my face and then snorts through her nose. We call her kisses "snotty nose sprays." Lobo has a tenancy of licking the inside of our noses while he's positioning himself on our upper chest and neck area.
It all boils down to love. In their own way.
For that, juicy kisses, nose sprays and tongued noses, we are blessed.
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