Partum Me?! The Family that Pukes Together…

It was a quiet Friday night. Charlie went down at his usual 7:30 with one rendition each of The Gruffalo (with a different voice for each character, of COURSE) and Goodnight Moon, a kiss on each cheek and the forehead, and a snuggle of his stuffed cat and giraffe before nestling them into the crib next to a sleepy boy.  Two hours later, I was just starting to think about putting myself to bed when the monitor crackled to life with the sound of Charlie coughing.  But then there was another sound.  A gurgle.  And then.  A splash?

Oh my god, I think he just…threw up!

And as quickly as it began, it ended.  Charlie threw up twice that night, didn’t eat too well the next day, had a few un-fun diaper situations that weekend, and that was it.  By Sunday, he was running around as if nothing had happened.  And luckily his dad had pretty much recovered from the day or so of suffering that he also endured after catching the illness.  I say luckily because had our lives been a movie, Sunday would be the day where I would fall to the floor in slow-mo agony, eyes wide, clutching my stomach. And there I would stay.  For FIVE. AGONIZING. DAYS.  In this movie, my husband would also get some sort of medal for heroically taking over our entire household while I remained comatose.

I knew something was really wrong on Monday as all of the parents in Charlie’s daycare class shuffled in, bleary-eyed, and began sharing our tales of woe from the weekend.  Almost all of us had the same story about Friday night, and the suffering that we all endured in the days that followed.  But I was the only one who was still sick.  Today (Thursday) is the first day I have down any solid food and I have yet to spend a full day at work this week. With the exception of the “Flu from Hell of 2004″ during my last year of law school, I have never been this sick for this long, ever.  And in both cases, I didn’t realize how sick I was until I dragged myself into work only to have my boss take one look at me and send me home.  Death does not become me, apparently.

But there has to be a silver lining to all of this, right?  Instead of mumbling about how toddlers do little more than carry horrific disease, I should talk about all the great things that happened this week as I became increasingly dehydrated and writhed in pain from stomach cramps.  So I thank Charlie for giving me this horrible plague because a) I lost 8 lbs.  Yes, EIGHT.  b) I got to take naps.  I miss naps. And finally c) I had an excuse to watch Magic Mike.  And you know what?  I really liked it.  Would I have rather spent four days away from the office on a beach with a fruity drink in my hand? Yes.  But 8 lbs of water weight, some extra sleep, and a male stripper movie will just have to do for now.

And with that, I’m off to get another Gatorade.