I’m going through an old blog i had on another site. A terribly operated, poorly kept site. I came across this post from 2011 and found myself laughing out loud to the point my son was offended when i told him what it was about. I thought i’d re-post and see if you find it half as amusing as i did.
2011 Plague
2-12-11
It started one week ago. The husband needed a weekend to rest up because he felt he was coming down with something. No problemo. I managed the kids solo just like any old Monday or Tuesday… or Wednesday or Thursday.
I should say he was worried i’d blog about this, but honey, it’s not just about you. 🙂
Anyhoo, we manage through the weekend and come Monday, he has a bad sinus infection. Having suffered from a few myself, i know how miserable it can be.
One down.
Tuesday i get a call that my son was just lying on the playground and ended up camped out in the director’s office, can i come get him.
Two down.
I make it through his fever for two days when I start feeling like a midget is sitting on my chest.
Three down.
Like dominoes, we drop. It morphs from fever/aches to something completely different. By Friday we are out of supplies, and darnit if the 5 month old can’t reach the floor pedals in my car yet to shop for us. I am now on antibiotics and feeling invincible. I take my son out for some fresh air and a Target/Costco run. His fever had been gone for 48 hours at this point and i thought we were good to move on.
Wrong-O.
He’s coughing and admiring his shiny new toy as we are walking through the grocery part of Target when
hoooooo-uh
A foamy, bubbly puddle of spit gurgles out of his mouth. In slow motion, i grab one of the bazillion napkins in my bag and try to catch anything that I can before it hits the ..
splat.
cart.
too late. To my embarrassment and surprise, the gaggle of people around me just keep going about their day. Myself, i make sure i give the mom a pitying ‘been-there-done-that, no worries’ look knowing how mortifying something like that can be.
Nope. Not even a glance. So i clean up the urp and make a b-line for the checkout. At this point he seems to be doing ok, and as we had just eaten lunch and he managed to keep that down, i thought we were out of the woods. I have no idea what the other shoppers thought as Ginormica Mom is speeding by them with a small(ish) boy in the cart chanting, “breath through your nose, honey iiiiiiiin oooooout, that’s good, you’re doing great!”
Like i’m reliving the Lamaze we used to bring him into this world.
We make it to the check stand. I’m feeling confident and start to think no one noticed. We get all the way through to me swiping my card when
gurgle .. gurrrrgle … gurrrr URP.
And for effect he’s managed to stand himself up in the back of the cart for maximum SPLATness. I look over and a giant foam puddle oozes out of his mouth and down his chin, over the side of the cart, and THWACK onto the floor.
Just in case anyone in the back of the store missed it, he immediately starts saying, “Did i throw up, mom? Did i throw up? DID I THROW UP? Why did i throw up ?!”
I felt at any moment i was going to hear, “Ma’am, the checkout line for parents of children with rabies is over here.”
What did i get? NOTHING. Nada. The cashier acted as if I had just swiped and left. No, no. Don’t worry about us! This 5 week old Baskin Robbins napkin is completely ample enough to clean up this puddle of ooze my child just spewed out of his face. I got it. You just keep on checkin’, chica. Don’t mind us.
Not one freakin’ “is he ok?” or “i’m so sorry!” or “poor guy!” Nope. Army of one here, got it covered, thanks y’all.
So we make it to the car without any further scene. I have a problem. … i still need to go to Costco for formula. It’s not like I can just find some other white-ish powder to put in a bottle and make it stretch. I need the baby crack. I COULD drive aaaaaall the way back home, drop the kiddo off, and then drive aaaaaaall the way back but what’s my next issue? (i can hear my mother guessing this now with an eye roll to boot)
I’m on empty. Well, technically i had enough to get back home AND to the gas station, but the light was on. I talk my brave little soldier into carrying his kids meal bag in with him. “We can do this, honey, i just need a couple things then we can go.”
Have i won mother of the year yet?
I coach him to the water, he’s good. I praise him to the peanut butter, all clear. The whole time he has about 3 misfires. All people around me can hear (if they’re even paying attention) “in the bag, honey, aim for the bag!” We make it to the promised land of baby necessities, i grab the formula and we make it out without even a hint of slime.
I was very proud of us. I get home and tell the short version to my dazed and still-sick husband and he’s unimpressed. Was I shocked? No. He’s sick, remember? Anyone who has lived with, married, dated, or in any way been caged with a sick male knows what i’m saying and i don’t need to embellish. They do that quite well themselves. So after this harrowing ordeal, i manage one more day before i’m hit with the cold. This ass-backwards plague is beginning to piss me off. Just when i think it can’t get any more comedic, my husband says to me last night (as he’s laying on an air mattress in the living room because he just can’t manage to sit up) “Do you know i’ve been sick for a week now?”
Well color me brown and call me a cowpie, no shit ?!! I hadn’t noticed !!! And later, “Gee, my back is actually starting to hurt from laying down so much.”
Well let me get that heating pad out, dear, ’cause i sure feel spry. OOPS! Did i leave that hot pad right where your nuts land in that chair? My bad.
Sarcasmica 