Yesterday I was very rudely awakened at the unholy hour of 6:00 am to the sound of my 2 year old hurling his guts up all over the floor of my mother’s living room. After having attended “school” five days a week for nearly a month now, he has so very thoughtfully brought home the dreaded “Tummy Virus.”
Since it was the first time he’d ever been “pukey” sick, my poor little boy had no idea what was happening to him, and his Autism prevented him from understanding/believing me when I promised that he was not in fact dying. He also could not wrap his mind around the concept that he was supposed to puke IN the trash can or toilet. After cleaning the projectile splatter (which soaked everything within a 3 foot radius) off everything from my mother’s tile flooring to halfway up the wall (even had to give the poor dog a whore bath since she unknowingly wandered into the blast zone), I began following my toddler around with the trash can, trying desperately to shove his head as far down into it a the very first inkling I had that he was about to toss his cookies. Which, since he is non-verbal and can’t tell me when he’s about to be sick, usually meant that I managed to get his face into the trash can right about the time that he was finished retching.
Like most stomach viruses, it was short lived and only caused him trouble for roughly 12 hours or so. Thank the Lord! He was right as rain this morning when he woke up, but I still kept breakfast bland to be sure. About an hour after taking my morning meds, I became super nauseous. I tried eating a little something in case I hadn’t eaten enough before taking them, but it was too late. I evidently hadn’t prayed hard enough to the God of Puke, and he exacted his vengeance upon me with full force.
After depositing the cinnamon roll I had eaten into the “torlit” as my husband calls it, I realized that I may as well pee while I was in there; after I found my sea legs and had the strength to stand up, that is. And wouldn’t ya know it – AF had come to visit this morning as well, a day early.
And what’s worse is that my poor hubby has been in the field for a solid two weeks and is supposed to come home tomorrow; I usually have to pry him off of me with a crowbar after he’s been to the field! So I’m not 100% sure whether Mother Nature’s timing will be a curse or a blessing!
I do plan to give the RE’s office a call first thing Monday morning and give them the news that while I am certain I O’d on my own last cycle, alas, there is still no baby on board. So I’ll do my very damndest to get in on CD 3 to get my blood drawn this month, and will also try to pay closer attention to when I will O this cycle … which should be on Christmas Eve. Maybe Matt can give me a baby for Christmas after all!