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Sicko and the Jeans

19 Jan

jeansSicko is the name and fitting into my pre-pregnancy jeans is the game.

I’ve been sick this week, really violently ill the way only bad food poisoning or a stomach flu can get you. I’m talking puking all over the place and crawling to the bathroom on all fours because you’re too weak to walk.

It started Wednesday night with some nausea, followed by me puking my guts out on Thursday morning, but clever girl that I am, I still went to work, because it’s just a bit of food poisoning right? All along, I was seriously wondering if I could be pregnant again? Hmm, not likely, but it has happened once in history before. Well, Maria and the holy ghost aside, this was not pregnancy nausea, unless I was hosting a vampire baby in my uterus like Bella Swan in Twilight. Shit. Did I just reveal that I’ve seen the movies? I hated them for the record. But had to keep watching. One of those things.

Anyway, I left early, somehow managed to drive home, which was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had. All along I was counting the minutes. Without traffic it takes me exactly 15 minutes to get home and I knew there would be parking in the middle of the day. So I was speaking to myself out loud, which lately I’ve found to have a powerful effect on me: Keep it together. 10 more minutes. Check your rearview mirrors. Good. Red light. Stop. Go. Turn left. Slowly. Now out of the car. Turn the key. Up the stairs.

The sitter opened the door and I thanked god that the sitter was my sister. I gave Baby a pat on the head and the biggest smile I could manage and said: Mommy’s very tired. She has to go to sleep now. Stripped and got into bed and my sister brought a glass of water and some pain killers. That was at noon. The next time I could get out of bed was the following morning. My mother came in to take Baby for the night, and I lay in bed crying that he must be mad at me for sending him away (to his loving grandparents, I know it’s stupid).

That night was one of the worst nights in my life, seriously. And I used the speaking out loud technique again, which actually helped. This time I said to myself: After all you’ve been through these seven months, childbirth, recovery, caring for an infant, being left by your husband, changing jobs, dealing with your past, seriously. This is just a stomach bug. It’s not going to kill you.
The next day was Friday and BD took Baby for the night, and I ate for the first time since Wednesday. Slowly, I gained some strength back and here I am, finally functioning and Baby will be home soon. I just can’t wait to see him! I miss him so very much.

Let me just say, that this was the first time in my life that I’ve been sick and alone, with no one to make me tea or just ask if I need anything. It sucked big time. I realize that I’ve been very spoiled this way, always having someone to care for me. I went straight from my parents home, to “our” home, and now, husbandless, Baby gone for the night, here I was alone with my thoughts, and many hours in bed to contemplate and cry. I’m really glad that’s over.

And this brings me to the Jeans with a capital J. Yes, those Jeans that I had figured would fit about a month back but could barely get the top button closed. Well, there is apparently one very small upside to being so sick. The Jeans fit.

So now that I’m done being sick (hopefully) I think next weekend, Sicko and the Jeans are going dancing.

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