It’s true that children are simply an incubus of germs waiting to be transferred to the next readily available adult. I’m starting to think of Baby Jake as one of those drive-thru bank tubes, where mother nature, or whomever, places a virus inside of him, pushes a button, and shoots him straight to me.
Come to think of it…it’s not really Jake, it’s me. Somehow, I have managed to produce one of the weakest immune systems for a perfectly healthy individual. So much so that even my general practitioner is baffled and marvels at the number of times I come stumbling in begging for antibiotics (drugs) and other happy pills. Every time I have my blood work done, it comes back perfect. I believe my physician said something to the effect of “I usually expect to see some percentage of allergy or weakness in the immune system, and all of yours say zero percent.” That probably wasn’t an accurate quote, but it’s how accurately I remember it. Anyhow, I exercise, eat relatively well (skip to the next few paragraphs), take vitamins, and am in perfect health... (Actually, THAT’S what she said – no really, it’s what she said – that I am in “perfect health”)...yet somehow, I manage to ALWAYS be sick. I jest that if someone even mentions that they are coming down with something, I will be sure to contract whatever it is the next day, and I’m usually right!
What does this have to do with Jake? Well, for the last week I have been fighting something. It started with a headache, transitioned into low grade fevers, achiness, and then BAM, it hit me suddenly. Jake, in the meantime, has been spitting up, vomiting sporadically, and fought a fever, as well. We have been simultaneously fighting symptoms, however, when he fights his symptoms, he continues to plow through everything like a mini monster and manages to do it with a grin on his face. I, on the other hand, cannot get out of bed.
The last two days, I have experienced a horrific and disgusting bug that included (without getting too graphic) excessive vomiting and painful (yes, painful) fever, aches, and chills. The cherry on top was the massive migraine headache I had all night. For those who know me well, you know how much I detest the process of throwing up. My mind is constantly baffled by those who suffer bulimia. How do they do it?! In addition to being painful and disgusting, I, personally, become nothing short of a small child when it comes to this disgusting activity. I start shaking, crying, and begging for my mom…even at this age. The last time I experienced something so terrible was the day after Sabrina & JJ’s engagement party. I had a sinus infection, took antibiotics, and still managed to go wine tasting (hey, I didn’t drink anything that night!). The next day, (ask Audry), we had to pull over every 10 minutes on the way home from Napa to San Francisco so that I could experience the pain and anguish of, ew, throwing up bile on the side of CA-29, which oh by the way, is a 2-lane road, because it turns out I am allergic to that antibiotic, and wine tasting probably didn’t help. (I could continue about stories of being sick, and how I am constantly baffled at how quickly people, Sabrina, can bounce back, but that’s for another day.) Back to the present time, today I am operating at about 98%. I do manage to have my appetite back, and now brings us to the point of my even writing this entry.
Obviously, I am feeling REALLY inspired, because I haven’t made any entries in awhile, and as we all know (all 6 of you), when I have a PSA, I am impatient chicken and need to share with the world immediately.
I did not eat a single thing except two saltines and a cup of chicken broth the first day this extraordinary bug harpooned my system. Yesterday, I did manage to eat some healthy black bean chili and rice. Today, I was determined to have what my body was actually craving – a hamburger (no cheese) and strawberry shake. What better place to purchase such items than McDonald’s, because, after all, if you’re going to go, you might as well go big and get the fries, as well. Plus, I actually had it in my head that avoiding cheese might actually help (and yes, I’m aware the shake is dairy…leave me alone).
Well, yes, people, I have seen Supersize Me, and yes, I recall how sick Morgan Spurlock (Google) became after eating McDonald’s every day for 30 days. I was not planning on eating this every day (save for the time I was pregnant and DID, in fact, stop at McDonald’s for breakfast every day in the 1st and 2nd trimesters…ok…and most of the 3rd – wait – how did I gain 45 lbs.?). I thought to myself, “Self, one day ain’t gonna kill ya.” I actually thought that if I got the Quarter Pounder with no cheese, only ate half the large fries, and maybe downed 1/3 of the shake, I might be in good shape and still satisfy my craving. I did even better than that, people! I ate the Quarter Pounder with one bun, yes, had half the fries, and took MAYBE 5 sips of the shake (too sweet even for me) and trashed the rest.
I was so proud of myself for listening to my body.
Lo and behold, not even thirty minutes later, I heard the all too familiar rumblings in my tummy, and the food, quite literally, hit me like a ton of bricks. As I am furiously typing this tale, my stomach is writhing and feeling like Laila Ali is using my intestine as her personal punching bag. It has now been 4 hours, and I’m still unable to properly function.
Circling back to Mr. Jake. My aunt kept him over the weekend. She, her friend, my daughter, and my daughter’s friend all fought the funk this week, not to mention, my darling husband is feeling the effects of this nasty bug today. Maybe, if I were one of those moms who bathed in Lysol every 30 minutes, this would not have happened.
…and I wouldn’t have wasted $6.41 to make myself miserably sick again. Curses McDonald’s!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Up All Night, Up All Day
As if I don't need to sleep during the night....
Here is how my evening went:
10pm-ish - Celtics nearly give me heart failure during their game with the Spurs. Thank God they won even though they pretty much deserved to lose given their horrible display the last 3 minutes of the game.
10:30pm - Turn off TV to go to bed
10:40pm - Almost asleep, Shawn nearly chokes on his own saliva a la Jake style because his throat hurts and he doesn't want to swallow. (twss) Find out Rondo DID get a triple-double and go to sleep with a smile on my face. (Note to self: lookup triple-double record and see where Rondo falls into place)
10:50pm - Almost asleep...again, Shawn wakes up to look for a cough drop. I turn on the light to find one. Men really are babies when they are sick.
11:00pm - And again...almost asleep. Shawn wakes up and says "Was that him?!" meaning, Mr. Jake. I get up to check and make sure the monitor is working. Oh ya, it's working, and need I remind you that I wake up to the buzz before the alarm goes off because I'm a light sleeper? (read: I have sleep apnea)
1:00am - I wake up, hear Jake cry out. Wait anxiously to see if I need to pin his arms down to put him back to sleep. I don't. I go back to sleep.
3:00am - I wake up...just...because. I think about all the things I need to remember for today including but not limited to, my writing this blog post. I tell myself 6 times (because Kelli F. always said "6 times committed to memory") that I need to remind myself to send out the last 2 Baby Announcement/Holiday Cards rolled up into a New Years Card, because let's face it, I didn't have time (read: make time) to send out baby announcements or holiday cards, and besides, who wants to kill all those trees?! Anyhow, I remind myself to mail the last 2 cards to my sister-in-law and aunt. Then, I start to wonder when I'm going to write all of those Thank You notes to the generous people who sent me baby gifts (could be you). I mean, I figure it's like a wedding and I have one year to send them (right???). I also think, rather, hope, that I already written the thank yous to my co-workers who attended my shower in May and gave me gifts. Actually, I'm terrified I did NOT write them and I start to think about all the encounters I've had with my co-workers wondering if they think I am a sub-standard human being because I haven't written them a thank you card. I sweat it out and think about the fact that I need to give my friend Lauren a thank you card and include a photo of Jake with the super cute outfit she gave him that he wore for everyone on Thanksgiving.
I continue to think about other things, like why I haven't posted on my blog in awhile to satisfy all 3 followers and to heal myself since it's very therapeutic, and I hope I don't forget all the fantastic ideas I have to post (I did). I also anticipate Jake's somewhat standard 4am wake-up, and know that I have to get him because a) Shawn is sick and b) Shawn is traveling to New Orleans today and has to get up at 6am. I also think that I should take experts' advice and keep a notepad and pen next to my bed so I can write this stuff down and go back to sleep.
4am - Back to sleep.
5:45-ish am - Wake up. I hear Shawn wake up to go feed Mr. Jake.
6:15am - Wake up. Shawn brings Mr. Jake in to lay down and sleep in bed with me, my favorite part of the day.
6:30am - Wake up (did I ever fall back to sleep?) to kiss Shawn goodbye. I initially planned to get up but instead re-set my alarm for 7:30am.
7:15am - Jake wakes up (boo). I go to change his diaper and he pees all over the place, so I take him to the bathroom to bathe him. I leave dried peepee on the drapes and vow to wash or Lysol wipe them later this evening.
7:30am - Turn off alarm. Run around with my head cut off putting together Jake's diaper bag, put on Baby Einstein, feed the kitties, iron my skirt, frantically search for my one white button down shirt. I'm supposed to meet my sitter at work at 9.
8:30am - Still looking for my white shirt. I pick up Jake because he's crying, try to put in my contacts while holding him, drop my last contact. Curse myself for a) not ordering more contacts last week like I told myself to do and b) not sticking to the initial plan of getting up at 6:30am.
9am - I'm super late. Can't find my brown boot. Can't find an extra contact. Re-bathe Jake because he spit up and poo'd everywhere. Curse myself again for not getting up at 6:30am.
10am - Finally make it to work.
Now, nobody can curse me for not returning calls or writing on Facebook walls.
Here is how my evening went:
10pm-ish - Celtics nearly give me heart failure during their game with the Spurs. Thank God they won even though they pretty much deserved to lose given their horrible display the last 3 minutes of the game.
10:30pm - Turn off TV to go to bed
10:40pm - Almost asleep, Shawn nearly chokes on his own saliva a la Jake style because his throat hurts and he doesn't want to swallow. (twss) Find out Rondo DID get a triple-double and go to sleep with a smile on my face. (Note to self: lookup triple-double record and see where Rondo falls into place)
10:50pm - Almost asleep...again, Shawn wakes up to look for a cough drop. I turn on the light to find one. Men really are babies when they are sick.
11:00pm - And again...almost asleep. Shawn wakes up and says "Was that him?!" meaning, Mr. Jake. I get up to check and make sure the monitor is working. Oh ya, it's working, and need I remind you that I wake up to the buzz before the alarm goes off because I'm a light sleeper? (read: I have sleep apnea)
1:00am - I wake up, hear Jake cry out. Wait anxiously to see if I need to pin his arms down to put him back to sleep. I don't. I go back to sleep.
3:00am - I wake up...just...because. I think about all the things I need to remember for today including but not limited to, my writing this blog post. I tell myself 6 times (because Kelli F. always said "6 times committed to memory") that I need to remind myself to send out the last 2 Baby Announcement/Holiday Cards rolled up into a New Years Card, because let's face it, I didn't have time (read: make time) to send out baby announcements or holiday cards, and besides, who wants to kill all those trees?! Anyhow, I remind myself to mail the last 2 cards to my sister-in-law and aunt. Then, I start to wonder when I'm going to write all of those Thank You notes to the generous people who sent me baby gifts (could be you). I mean, I figure it's like a wedding and I have one year to send them (right???). I also think, rather, hope, that I already written the thank yous to my co-workers who attended my shower in May and gave me gifts. Actually, I'm terrified I did NOT write them and I start to think about all the encounters I've had with my co-workers wondering if they think I am a sub-standard human being because I haven't written them a thank you card. I sweat it out and think about the fact that I need to give my friend Lauren a thank you card and include a photo of Jake with the super cute outfit she gave him that he wore for everyone on Thanksgiving.
I continue to think about other things, like why I haven't posted on my blog in awhile to satisfy all 3 followers and to heal myself since it's very therapeutic, and I hope I don't forget all the fantastic ideas I have to post (I did). I also anticipate Jake's somewhat standard 4am wake-up, and know that I have to get him because a) Shawn is sick and b) Shawn is traveling to New Orleans today and has to get up at 6am. I also think that I should take experts' advice and keep a notepad and pen next to my bed so I can write this stuff down and go back to sleep.
4am - Back to sleep.
5:45-ish am - Wake up. I hear Shawn wake up to go feed Mr. Jake.
6:15am - Wake up. Shawn brings Mr. Jake in to lay down and sleep in bed with me, my favorite part of the day.
6:30am - Wake up (did I ever fall back to sleep?) to kiss Shawn goodbye. I initially planned to get up but instead re-set my alarm for 7:30am.
7:15am - Jake wakes up (boo). I go to change his diaper and he pees all over the place, so I take him to the bathroom to bathe him. I leave dried peepee on the drapes and vow to wash or Lysol wipe them later this evening.
7:30am - Turn off alarm. Run around with my head cut off putting together Jake's diaper bag, put on Baby Einstein, feed the kitties, iron my skirt, frantically search for my one white button down shirt. I'm supposed to meet my sitter at work at 9.
8:30am - Still looking for my white shirt. I pick up Jake because he's crying, try to put in my contacts while holding him, drop my last contact. Curse myself for a) not ordering more contacts last week like I told myself to do and b) not sticking to the initial plan of getting up at 6:30am.
9am - I'm super late. Can't find my brown boot. Can't find an extra contact. Re-bathe Jake because he spit up and poo'd everywhere. Curse myself again for not getting up at 6:30am.
10am - Finally make it to work.
Now, nobody can curse me for not returning calls or writing on Facebook walls.
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