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December 29, 2011

When It Rains

This week was supposed to be the week of birthday preparation. It was supposed to be a week of so much celebration that we would be farting confetti, but the universe must have missed that particular memo because that is NOT what has happened here. And while I would love to blame it on the simple act of stretching or a Grinch-like virus, it really comes down to one simple principle: when it rains, it pours.

It started Tuesday morning. Evelyn and I were snuggling in bed and she had just finished nursing. Blissfully ignorant to the hell fire that was about to become my day, I arched my back and stretched. I heard a crack... and then pain. Lots of pain. Blinding pain.

My saving grace was that the hubs was working from home that day and we tried everything to make it better- hot packs, cold packs, massage. Nothing helped. In fact, I was beginning to feel awfully nauseous, something I attributed to the horrific pain radiating from my upper back with every minuscule movement.

I went back to bed after begging an appointment with a local chiropractor for that afternoon. The moments ticked by at an agonizing pace. Evelyn was snuggled up to my side like my own personal watchdog and then, without warning, she erupted. I was suddenly covered in a thick spray of infant vomit. Not once, but twice.

I hollered up the stairs for help and Jonathan came to the rescue, just in time to begin sopping up the mess while I ran to the bathroom to empty my own stomach since it's pretty well documented that the sight of vomit and I don't usually mix well.

As I thanked my lucky stars that the only thing I'd eaten that day was a handful of grapes, I stumbled to the stairs and grabbed a pair of shoes. While it's true that I was still rocking the vomit pajama look, I didn't care one bit; moving was pain, so who was I to get dressed? Out the door I went to the chiropractor's office where I was cracked, adjusted, and sent on my way with the promise of feeling better by the end of the week.

I was nearly to the door when I felt the change; I frantically asked the receptionist the location of the bathroom and barely made it inside before the little water I had ingested reappeared once again. At this point, I knew that I couldn't blame this on the pain. No, my kids love to share (yes, even the toddler), and they had graciously shared this virus with me too.

Pale as death, I stumbled out of the office and managed to drive myself the two blocks home before collapsing on the couch. The remainder of the afternoon was filled with lots of groaning and vomiting. Even Jonathan got in on the fun a few hours later.

As we tried to bribe the toddler to take care of the three of us who were lying uselessly on the couch, a stroke of brilliance came to my husband. He called in his mother to the rescue who came bearing gifts of Chicken Noodle Soup and Pedialyte. Just what the doctor ordered.

We somehow managed to warm the soup (taking turns standing by the stove and running to the bathroom), and existed purely in survival mode until we could put the kids down to bed. While I can't exactly say that either of us got a good night of sleep, we both turned a corner on Wednesday- at least enough where I could start taking down the Christmas decorations and cleaning the house for the impending party.

So here's hoping that we can kill off any lingering symptoms of this virus before the weekend because if my Clorox wipes and I have anything to say about it, our home will be completely germ-free by the time the toddler is smashing his face into the cake. Let's just hope that the rain lets up... because we can't take much more of it this week.


  1. Oh goodness! I hope you guys are all feeling better soon!

  2. Goodness! How quickly it all falls apart, here is a prayer to quick movement of finishing uncompleted tasks before the big day!

  3. I just can't stop giggling over this line "It was supposed to be a week of so much celebration that we would be farting confetti"

    Love it. Glad you guys are feeling better!