It was late in the afternoon after a very long day (are they ever NOT long days?), when suddenly I felt it hit me...fever and chills and overwhelming nausea. I called my husband. He didn't answer. I call again. He doesn't answer. The baby is slung across me in her sling, crying because she can't fall asleep. I'm gonna be sick I'm gonna be sick, I can't believe this, WHY ISN'T HE ANSWERING HIS PHONE? She's hysterical, and now my son wants Big Bird, no Barney, no juice, no milk...as he starts climbing up the sofa back to reach my bookshelves...
I call my husband again. He answers. I ask him to come home as soon as he can, I'm sick suddenly and need his help. "Are you home?" he asks. Are you kidding me? It's 4pm, it's raining outside, you have our only working car, and you want to know am I home?!! Yessss, I hiss into the phone, just please get here.
It took him 45 minutes to walk through the door, but as soon as he did I took the baby off me and ran for the bathroom. I hate getting sick. I was sick my entire last pregnancy. This took me right back there. It wasn't pretty.
I stumble out of the bathroom, feeling totally weak and drained and shivering from fever. My husband is holding the crying baby. "Why don't you get him ready for bed", he motions to our two year old. I take the baby: "Uhh, here's a thought," my face says, while my mouth says: "Why don't YOU get him ready for bed". I stumble to my bed with the baby and let her nurse until we both fall asleep, and I long for the days when being sick meant calling into an automated system and knowing that my substitute folders were soon to be placed on my desk...for someone else to use.
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