You know that bridal shop bathroom scene in Bridesmaids? That was our house last night. Except for the shitting in the sink. And no one actually threw up on someone else head. But otherwise it was exactly like that.
Let’s back up a bit.
On Friday we were supposed to go to dinner with friends and the girls were going to spend the night with my brother. Half way there, John calls to inform me that his daughter has pink eye. Being slightly averse to having a houseful of pink eye, we redirected the kids to Scott’s parents.
While we’re at dinner, a friend texts me to see if Morgan can spend the night at their house. Perfect. Make up for the earlier disappointment.
I go to get Morgan in the morning and Ashley tells me she’s been having tummy troubles and isn’t feeling all that great. I assume it’s a combination of staying up to 2 in the morning and eating snacks before bed.
She’s exhausted and ends up taking a four hour nap in the afternoon before she actually starts to feel better.
Sunday morning, Scott heads off to a triathlon. He calls me on his way home to inform me he was in a pretty big bike wreck and may have broken his big toe. Apparently, he was coming into transition with his feet already out of the clips when he hit a bump and went flying. (He saved the bike though.)
They tested him for a concussion, but he wanted to keep going all Steve Prefontaine-like, so he ended up coming in 10th place as opposed to 2nd. Bloody shoe and all.
In the evening we went to my family’s big “July 4th” picnic (on the 8th, I know). I completely stuffed myself and was happy to be on my way home so I could lay on the couch.
We turned off the AC and started to enjoy the breeze and Scott decided he was just in too much pain from his foot and his stomach was upset, so he was going to bed. I had to admit, my stomach was not doing me any favors either.
Next thing I know, I hear an ungodly sound coming from the upstairs bathroom – like some heaving moose or walrus or something. Since last I checked we don’t own a moose or a walrus, I had to assume it was Scott. It was also then that I realized I had to use the bathroom…NOW.
So for the next half hour we rotate from bathroom to bed while also noticing the AC fan is still on, despite us turning the system off and it’s actually making the house hotter. Or we could have both had the cold sweats. It’s unclear. We even go so far as to turn the AC breaker off, but apparently the fan is on a different one.
Fuck it. (Yes, I'm dropping f-bombs by this point!) We turn the AC back on and close the windows. This takes about another half hour as we need to take frequent bathroom breaks.
My body feels like it has been punched every where. My legs are cramped up, probably from massive dehydration, and even my eye lids are having their own little pain circus around my eyeballs.
And that’s when we hear the pitter patter of little feet and Zoe spilling a bucket of water in the hallway. Except it’s not water, it’s puke and it’s coming from her mouth. The joy continues. Unlike when Scott pukes and I have to cover my head with a pillow so I don’t get sick myself, all Zoe’s puking invokes is complete sympathy.
This now rules out food poisoning, because all Zoe ate at the picnic was a hot dog and Doritos. So apparently, Morgan was much sicker than she ever let on and now I feel incredibly guilty that I made her get up and go to Costco with us, because it would be “good for her.” I am a horrible mother.
So Scott goes to cuddle up with a bed full of stuffed animals and Zoe crawls into bed with me and they continue to attempt to throw up their stomach linings and I continue to have my intestines pulled out through my a-hole.
Despite every attempt to sleep last night and today, it still hasn’t happened. You know when you are so exhausted that you start wishing you could somehow induce your own coma…that’s how I feel today.
The moral of this story…
When the universe offers you pink eye, you take it. You take it and say thank you.
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