Ugh. It seems to be that time of the year again. The stomach bug seems to be circulating and causing upheaval in households all around suburbia. It’s the time of year where moms like me start walking around with disinfecting wipes and swiping doorknobs immediately after they are touched. Where the sheets get washed twice as much. Where you’d like to just wrap everyone in bubblewrap and have them wear surgical gloves until every germ has left the earth. Okay. Maybe not evvvvvvery germ. But for real. The flu… whether the sneezing, nose-dripping, fire throat kind OR the barfs/bum/and other things, is pretty much a mother’s worst enemy.
We’d had such a great day on Tuesday, the Littlest and I. We’d baked, made playdough, prepared dinner for friends, meal-prepped, enjoyed the weather. Heck. I even wore an apron for most of the day. It was one of those days where, honestly, I was all high-fivin’ myself like, “The Oldest did math with candy today {high five}, the Middlest is using his manners lately without me even asking {high five!}, the Littlest is getting more and more independent and we don’t even put on the TV or use the iPad at all {high five!!!}, aaaaaand mama is healthy, happy, and a damn housewife for all intents and purposes.”
I know, I just talked about contentment over happiness, right? Well, Tuesday was a HAPPY and content day. It was like an 11 on a scale of 10. And right before bed, I took my normal round-up of pills, snuggled {ahem} up to the hubs, watched a little tv and prepared myself to drift off into a Pleasantville sort of dreamland.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH.
What time is it? Is this a dream? OHEMGOONNNNESS… WHAT HAS CRAWLED INTO MY STOMACH? IS THERE A GERBIL IN MY STOMACH?! DID I SPELL GERBIL RIGHT?! ARRRRRRGH! GERBIL!! STOP!!! UH. OH. GET UP. GET UP NOW. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO MAKE IT. OKAY. YOU MADE IT. THAT’S GOTTA BE IT. NOOOOOPE!!! OH GAW. IS ANYONE ELSE UP?! IS THIS FROM THE CHICKEN AND SWEET POTATOES?! I KNEW I SHOULDN’T HAVE COOKED!!! COOKING JUST CAUSES PROBLEMS!! NOT AGAIN. YEP. AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN. OH GAW. NOT THE OTHER SIDE. SHIT. SHIT. {CRYING….} PUUUUUULEASE TELL ME I DIDN’T SUCK AT COOKING SO MUCH THAT I GOT EVERYONE SIIIIIIICK. I REALLY NEED TO CLEAN MY FLOOR. AND UNDER THE KIDS’ BEDS. AND I NEED TO GET OUT THEIR WINTER CLOTHES. OHHHHHH… I DON’T WANNNNNA BARF ANYMORE.
THAT’S GOTTA BE IT. IT’S GOTTA BE DONE.
“You okay, babe?” the hubs asks as I re-entered the bedroom.
“Ugh. No. You okay?! Is your tummy okay? Are you having any stomach pain? Have you been up?”
“Not yet.”
“I think it’s done. I’m gonna go lay on the couch.”
“No babe, come to bed.”
“I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Just get in bed.”
“Nah. I’m gonna watch TV.”
Ahhhhh… Gilmore Girls. Hello, girls. Thank you for being here — winter, spring, summer or fall — and through the wee small hours. ANNNNNNNND… AGAIN. ANOTHER ROUND. ANOTHER ROUND. HOW MANY ROUNDS ARE WE AT?! I NEED TO CLEAN THE TOILETS. I NEED TO GET THE GERMS OUT BEFORE THE KIDS WAKE UP. OPE. NOPE. AGAIN. ALLLLLLL THE WAYS, REALLY?! ALL AT ONCE?! I MEAN, SERIOUSLY?! I AM A GROWN-ASS WOMAN, RIGHT? THIS HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE, RIGHT? I CAN’T BE THE ONLY PERSON THAT HAS EVER BEEN SITTING ON A TOILET AND HOLDING A BOWL AND USING BOTH AND CRYING AND HOPING UPON HOPES THAT NO ONE ELSE IS DOING THIS TONIGHT BECAUSE OF MY UNDERCOOKED CHICKEN. DOES THIS HAPPEN TO KATE MIDDLETON? OR CARRIE UNDERWOOD? DO THEY COOK BAD CHICKEN? NO. CARRIE IS A VEGAN. SHE DOESN’T GET THE FLU FROM BAD CHICKEN. SHE DOESN’T GET THE FLU BECAUSE SHE HAS AMAZING LEGS. AFTER I GET THE FLU, I’M GETTING CARRIE UNDERWOOD’S LEGS. AND I’M GONNA BE APPROPRIATE LIKE KATE. OHHHHHHH SHEEEZY. I THINK I’M JUST GONNA SLEEP ON THIS WOOD FLOOR FOR A BIT. YEAH. THAT FEELS NICE.
WHAT?! 5:30?! IT’S 5:30 ALREADY? THIS IS GONNA BE A DAY. I DON’T THINK I CAN MOM TODAY.
“Everything okay?” the hubs asks as I re-enter the room, yet again.
“I lost count… you still okay? Your tummy okay? I hope it’s not food poisoning.”
“Come to bed.”
WHY IS HE SO NICE TO ME?! LIKE, HE LIKES ME ENOUGH TO WANT MY PUKE GERMS ALL UP IN HIS GRILL?! I DON’T DESERVE THIS GUY. I SMELL LIKE BARF. HE GOT ME A BOWL. HE GOT ME WATER. HE REALLY LIKES ME, DOESN’T HE? THAT’S SO NICE. WOULD I BE THAT NICE?! IF IT WERE HIM, I’D BE THAT NICE, RIGHT?
“UH OH…”
I don’t wannnnnnna.
“I can’t do life today, babe.”
“Yeah, no prob. I’ll stay home.”
MAN. I MARRIED UP. FIRST I HAD CANCER. NOW HE’S GOTTA TAKE WORK OFF. I’M THE MOM. I’M SUPPOSED TO BE THE MOM. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO GET SICK. MOMS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE ROCK SOLID. HOW COULD I GET SICK?! WHAT IF THE KIDS GET SICK? I NEED TO WASH THE SHEETS. RIGHT NOW. WHY AM I SO CLAMMY? WHY DO I FEEL COLD? MY BED WILL MAKE THIS BETTER, RIGHT? YES.
TEARS. TEARS. WHAT IS WITH THIS PAIN?! WHAT THE FRENCH TOAST? GROSS. FRENCH TOAST. I NEED TO BARF.
I AM DYING. I AM SURE OF IT. THERE IS NO OTHER EXPLANATION. NOTHING ELSE CAN BE A REASONABLE EXPLANATION. UNLESS MY SPLEEN HAS RUPTURED. WHY ARE MY TEETH CHATTERING?! WHY AM I SWEATING? DID I WORK OUT? DID I DO A WORKOUT? IS IT 1997? WHY IS MY HAIR SO CURLY? I NEED A BATH. I’M FREEZING. I NEED A BATH. WHAT IF I THROW UP IN THE BATH? IS IT MORNING? IT IS MORNING. I WANT MY MOM. I NEED THE SICK BLANKET. I’M FREEZING. BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. THE CHILDREN AREN’T BARFING…GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, GIRL. YOU ARE A HORRIBLE SICK PERSON.
….
I meannnnn… is anyone else like this? Are these the normal mom thoughts during the flu? I will spare you the part where I told my husband that I had a stabbing pain and back spasms and I was concerned I might have a gerbil in my insides. Okay. Not a gerbil. But it was horrid. Like, the worst stomach pain I can remember having. And the back pain… I don’t know.
But seriously, there is nothing more demoralizing than peeing all over yourself while you have crap coming out of every which where. And thinking, “there is no way Kate Middleton does this. There is no way she has ever peed all over the place with her head in a toilet bowl.” And then, hoping that your children are spared from the heebeejeebees. And you swear you will clean every inch of your house… every inch of your childrens’ faces… every bit of your car… every nook… every cranny. You will just burn the clothes you were wearing. You will throw away the bowl. You will never cook again… okay, I will cook again.
I ended up at the doc due to the pain. And I can say, it is the very first time I’ve ever gone to the doctor for the tummy bug. I had tried Zofran at home in the early hours but couldn’t keep it in, so… a shot of Zofran in the muffin top and a bag of fluids to re-hydrate me were in the cards. I rocked the Donald Trump do {previously known as Blanche} after taking a shower and letting my hair bed dry. I didn’t eat a morsel yesterday. Just tried to keep in Gatorade and Water… which was unsuccessful until 3 pm. And then, I took the script of Fenegrin and was sleeping beauty for a lot of hours. Best part of the day… when I finally fell asleep.
The Gilmore Girls played in the background. Moments happened where the boys would come in and out. I could hear cries or giggles every once in awhile. But I was pretty well knocked out cold. And that was all just 24 hours. How is it possible that one day can make us feel so much shit?
This morning: cleaned two bathrooms, sheared the beds of sheets, ate a scrambled egg {which is staying down… HALLELUJAH!}, cocunut Bai in my cup and water in the other, and lots of couch time now until the energy comes back, maybe even a shower… pretty glamorous stuff. A little clammy still, a little bit of pain, but nothing compared to the shitstorm of yesterday. Oh, and I’m rocking my Drop Dead Fred hair, which the Middlest told me looks, “really nice, mom.” {If you don’t know what Drop Dead Fred is, you had an empty childhood. Okay. Not really. But Google it anyway. And look at Fred’s hair. My hair is styled basically the same after a thwarted attempt to straighten the bed-dried Trump.}
So far… the other dominoes are all still standing and in a mama’s mind, that is really the most important part… no collateral damage. And hoping upon hopes that YOU do not meet this year’s meanie meanerton tummy vibes. Because seriously, they’re the shits. And the barfs. And the pangs. And the worst. For reals.
November came in like a lion, apparently… which I’m hoping means it will go out like a lamb. I bet Kate Middleton’s will.
