Yes, I Know I'm Sick

Well, I thought I was going to be, anyway. Maybe I am and just don't know it, yet - we'll see.

My four-year-old daughter came downstairs yesterday morning looking a little piqued and acting somewhat lethargic. She wasn't interested in a bubble bath or sitting on top of the heating vent like a cat. So I suspected the worst.

Then came the dreaded, "My tummy hurts." And after she refused her favorite breakfast of an egg burrito, I began restructuring my day.

I canceled the tutoring session I help out with at the school on Mondays. I went running while Jim was still home, knowing the Y would not be graced with my morning hair and sweat-stained workout attire. I decided I would - wait for it - clean the playroom. Basicially, I planned to be hunkered down in my house all day like Sigourney Weaver in that serial killer movie. What was that, again? Allow me to look it up real quick, along with the correct spelling of her name. Hang on a sec.

'Copycat' - that's it. AND I spelled her name right the first time!!! Woot! Plus, she was the voice of the ship's computer in 'WALL-E' - did you know that? I didn't...

Anyway, I had a whole day of agoraphobia planned, a good bit of it to be spent with the little bundle of contagion in my lap. Which was fine - that's what I signed up for. Except that when she ulitmately did start throwing up, I realized I was out of all throw-up supplies and accessories.

She threw up only a few times and then took a breather, at which time I bathed her, put fresh clothes on her, and told her we needed to make a quick run to the store. She was amenable to the plan, as she loves, loves Piggly Wiggly. Cheap date, that one.

So as I begin to slide her shoes on her cute little feet, I feel it - and it ain't a good feeling at all. Right there in my solar plexus was a rave party of stabbing pain - I could almost see the glow sticks radiating from my sternum. I could definitely feel the throbbing techno music. And I knew I would be up all night, begging for mercy.

The reason the feeling was so familiar is that many a time I have succumbed to an amazingly debilitating stomach virus after one of my kids has thrown up just once. The worst was when I was at my due date with my last daughter and could barely reach the toilet for the girth of my belly. NICE.

I continued on, accepting what couldn't at this point be changed. Through Piggly Wiggly we rushed, Saltines, Pedialyte, and other fixin's in hand, all while trying to ignore my increasing pain. We made it home with no problems, I stuck her back on the towel-and-bucket-laden couch, and then unloaded the groceries. The pain was suddenly gone. And then I saw the giant carton of Goldfish there in my cabinet - looking back at me...

Hmmmmm.... I thought, if I'm just going to hash all night anyway, I may as well go for it. So I grabbed the carton and had my own little rave party. Ohhhh, I love Goldfish, and the lack of moderation when gorging on them felt so, so good, like sex when the kids are all spending the night somewhere else. Yummy!

Next I grabbed the leftovers. Jim said they would make for another meal, so I interpreted that to mean just one meal for me, not for the whole family, and consumed the entire container of scrumptious grilled teriyaki chicken and veggies. Oh, yummy, yummy!

Girl Scout cookies. More Goldfish. Sandwich meat by itself. A stick of butter - nah, just kidding about that. But the best part was that I felt no more pain!!! AND I would be getting rid of it all in a few short hours, I just knew it!!! AWESOME!!!

Jim came home prepared to cook supper since I had earlier reported that I might be getting sick, too. And he made - prepare yourself - shrimp and grits. PERFECT shrimp and grits. So I helped myself to three servings of that, too, and after dinner when I cleaned the kitchen and the girls were getting ready for bed, I ate the entire leftover pot of buttery grits straight from the ladle itself. Ohhhhhh, sweet nectar of the gods, it was so flippin' good!!!

And then it happened - or rather, didn't. I never got sick. All that fat and all those calories from my own personal dietary snow day are just sitting here under my two cups of coffee, laughing at me.

I feel so jiggly.

And kind of like I'm in another Sigourney Weaver movie - this time 'Ghostbusters', and I'm terrorizing the city with my Stay-Puft goodness.

Honestly, where is a little virus when you need it???