Da Goddess

I have been puked on twice this week. First time was H2T (and in case you don’t comprendez Tyraspeak: “Head to [2] Toe” — and yes, I realize I watch way too much ANTM. It’s a guilty pleasure.)

So there I was, feeding an adorable little baby boy his bottle when ALL OF A SUDDEN HE ERUPTS! Gooey, mucousy, yellow and white vomit is pouring forth. I’ve been hit. Shoulder. Breast. Waist. The thigh! The shin! And the feet. Both of the feet. He’s covered with the goo, too. And crying. Okay, SCREAMING. I throw a blanket over the vomit on the floor and head upstairs to clean us up a bit before his mom gets home. In fact, I text her to let her know what’s going on since she’s been gone for over four hours (most of her outings turn into Gilligan’s Island pleasure cruises…heading out for a gallon of milk suddenly becomes a quest for the Holy Grail and my plans get shot to shit). Up the stairs with the wiggly, screaming, very unhappy baby, and the little guy to boot…I grab clothes for him, clothes for me, set him on the bathroom floor, grab wipes, washcloths, and a towel. I strip him down and get him cleaned up, dried off, and hand him a book. He calms down and looks at the book while I strip down, wash up, and get dressed. I have to do the washing bit a couple of times because I can still smell puke on my skin.

As many of you may recall, I don’t like vomit. Emesis is my nemesis.

And I’ve endured this twice in one week.

Also, I’ve had a repeat MRI. Finally. It’s been two years since the last one and I’m having increased symptoms of hand numbness and tingling in the morning, patches of tingling and heat in my legs, and even with meds the pain is not well-controlled (of course, having the insurance company play games and dangle the meds in front of me for three weeks before giving them to me was rather contra-indicated on my pain management plan, but I eventually got them). Now we can see if things have shifted/deteriorated/compressed or whatever else to the point of my needing surgery again, or at the very least having a reason for the insurance co to approve more steroid epidurals…which had been working!!!! Sometimes the simplest solutions require squeaking wheels (or overly dramatic tearful phone calls to lawyers) to get the game playing to stop and get people to do what a judge ordered them to do two years ago.

It’s no wonder I’ve begun to intermittently bite my nails again.

Late yesterday, after my MRI, after the barfing baby and his mommy left for an exotic land, and the daddy left for work, I found myself reveling in the deliciously pure silence in the house, knowing I wouldn’t have to wake up early for two weeks unless I so choose, knowing that my laundry can be done when I want to do it, how I like to do it, and knowing that after the daddy leaves to join the mommy and baby, I will have even more freedom to just rest and relax my way…all day…all night…watching whatever I want. Not having to visit with Caillou or Sportacus or even that cute little imp called Elmo. No. I will listen to grown up music. I will watch grown up tv shows. And I will eat grown up food WHEN I WANT TO!

Sadly, I will have no one to take a mid-day nap alongside me.

Applications are welcome. Up-chuckers need not apply.