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Again?!

(Warning: This blog post contains vomit. Reader discretion is advised.)

This is getting to be some sort of sick joke. Pun intended. It's an endless cycle; the kids get sick, we get sick. We are better for a few days, then the kids get sick. Then we get sick. Are we living in some state of filth that's making us more susceptible to germs? Someone kindly let us know.

We had a glorious week, besides the kids being sick. They recovered quickly and we went about our daily lives. I took Saturday off of work for my dear friend Krista's wedding. Saturday morning was filled with joy; the kids and I went to visit Daddy as he worked as a police reserve at the Boo-falo Fun Run. We visited our local library, filling up on books for the week ahead. We came home and read books together. It was an all over joyous occasion.

Around lunch time, I started feeling somewhat queasy. I ate something, thinking that would help me out. I was, for the most part, wrong. Whatever I ate didn't sit well with me. Soon, I found myself in my bed, shaking from the chills, battling a severe bout of gastrointestinal illness which was setting off contraction after contraction. The contractions wouldn't stop and I didn't know what to do. I called the doctor on-call who advised bedrest for two hours, strictly on my left side. If that didn't help, I was to go in.

I settled onto my left side on the couch and Chet approached me, as kind as he is.

"Don't feel bad about missing the wedding. You need to take care of yourself and not have your kid a month early."
"The wedding! I can't miss the wedding! Sob sob! It's one of my best friend's weddings! She stood for me! I can't miss it!"

I had no choice. If I showed up, likely someone would redirect me to the Halloween party down the street, reminding me that zombies are not allowed at weddings.

The contractions stopped three hours later. I thought I was out of the woods.

I woke up that night shaking violently and running a fever. I took some Tylenol and crawled back in bed. I dreamed that I was making a rolled fabric flower, and each hour that I slept, this flower got bigger and bigger. By the time I woke up, the flower was as big as a cornfield.

Chet took Avery to Sunday School that morning and I vaguely remember being somewhat crabby and maybe perhaps a bit impatient with him as he tried to get out the door on time. I mean, how hard is it to find her some matching shoes and a sweater without my help?

He came back home after church with a dozen red roses. Why he even wanted to come back, I'll never know.

By noon, I was feeling 80% better and decided I better go to work. After all, as Avery reminds me, my old people need me.

I got a text towards the end of my shift from Chet.

"You took the pepto-bismol with you and I need it."

Oh, no.

This morning, on our way to the dentist, Avery was curious about Daddy being sick.

"Hey, Mom? What color was Daddy's puke?"

I told her to ask her Dad.

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