Remember how I said I wasn't going to write about bodily functions anymore? I lied. Well, sort of. This isn't about Elsa and Clio's bodily functions, but my own. Puking, specifically. I spent several hours last night engaged in this delightful activity, my stomach repeatedly, violently insisting on purging itself of its contents long after there was nothing left to purge. It was wretched. On the bright side: at least there was women's gymnastics to watch in between pukes. And the US kicked ass!
After the medal ceremony and some final, valedictory heaves, I basically lay in bed moaning for awhile, because I felt so completely awful -- aching, shaky, spent. Eventually I fell asleep. Today, fortunately, there's been no more puking. But lots of aching and nausea and feeling exhausted. As I write this, I am snacking on my children's Goldfish crackers, bringing my total caloric intake for the day up into the triple digits, I hope. (Another bright side: easy 2 pound crash diet!)
Seriously, though, what is the deal with parenting and getting sick?
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