Posted on | March 4, 2013 | 30 Comments
Remember last Monday when I was all “wheeeeee life is neat and look at me doin’ stuff and makin’ stuff happen! LIFE! YEAH!”. Well the thing is is that internet jinxing is real and alive on this internet. And the universe heard me and made sure I don’t get too braggy again any time soon.
Wednesday morning, after feeling pretty wonderful for quite a few days in a row, I woke up with that familiar queezy feeling. I was able to ignore it long enough to help Harper get ready for school, let the dog outside, and get them both food. I was in my bathroom getting myself presentable enough to drive through the valet line (best. thing. ever. invented.) when Harper came running in to tell me that Lulu (the french bulldog) had thrown up. OH YES! JUST WHAT I LOVE TO HEAR IN THE MORNING! When I came out to assess the situation, it immediately sent me into a gagging and then of course, vomiting fit. And to top it all off, she had done it on my favorite chair.
I sent off multiple SOS texts to my husband, for no reason other than to have someone to tell the horror to. Dog Barf. So gross. I can’t do this. OH MY GOD BABE THIS DOG NO. After some time of gathering myself, deep breaths, getting dressed etc, I knew I had to bite the bullet and clean it up. When I returned to the scene of the crime I realized…it was poop. Poopvom. (When I later told my mom this story she was like “Oh no, it came out of both ends at the same time?!” and I was like, “no no, she ate poop and then barfed it” to which her reaction was as horrified as one would expect). I could NOT. The only thing I could do was open the back slider and remove that chair from my house, light 6 candles and think of ginger candy and sour patch kids, because EFF THAT. You don’t clean up poopvom then resume sitting on that chair. No.
The week only got better from there, when Harper’s ear infections returned (after 10 days of antibiotics), both Scot and I became sick, and well basically not a lot else needs to go wrong when you add those things up. Really sick kid screaming out in the middle of the night in pain, an ill husband and a sick pregnant lady who just wants to take copious amounts of nyquil with a hot toddy chaser but is denied those things = not fun. Can we point out, while we’re on the complain train, that urgent care is exactly and precisely the opposite of urgent? Entertaining a sick 4 year old who can’t hear for over and hour and half while you and your spouse are sick is like the 7th level of hell.
So with the exception of sitting at “urgent” care and making Harper a “costume” for Dr. Seuss day at school, my weekend was spent complaining about how pregnant people can’t take anything good and trying to sleep. I couldn’t actually take H in today because of all the near dying (my lymph-nodes are so swollen I could barely turn my neck – so fancy), but I did manage to get her looking like her request, the Lorax.
I know there are worse weeks we could have had, but it blew. It’s a moon thing or something right? Let’s go with that.