Memories of my vacation to Hawaii are fading into the mist, replaced by memories of being violently, miserably sick. I had two revelations during my bout with food poisoning: so this is what it's like to die, and most of the time, I'm a pretty good mom.
Last Thursday, I thought that Andy might as well have a mother addicted to crack. I was completely unable to take care of him. Luckily, it was just for a morning, until my mom came to the rescue.
I woke up so delirious that I did the unthinkable: took a slice of bread and crackers back into bed, and let Andy have at 'em. He crawled all over the bed, happily munching. I kept waking from my fever induced haze to find some corner of the bed free from crumbs, so that I could curl into a fetal position and shiver. When every inch of the bed was covered in crumbs, it was time to move to the couch.
I plopped Andy down in the middle of the living room, and collapsed onto the sofa. Wouldn't you think this was his golden opportunity to crawl to the toilet, the fireplace, or some other forbidden zone? No, he stood right by me on the couch and screamed at me in his diaper. Get up, mom! What's wrong with you? I have a massive load in here! Can't you see I haven't had a proper breakfast? Play with me!
And I'm thinking, come on kid, here's your chance to finally break the DVD player.
It finally occurred to me that the day was not going to get better. I called my mom at work, and she instantly agreed to come over. Thank God we live so close and she was able to save the day.
When my illness progressed to running to the bathroom with the garbage can, Mike took me to the doctor. I started antibiotics and was better by Sunday. I was really, really bummed to miss my good friend Bernadette's wedding reception on Saturday.
I realize that most of the time, I take my good health for granted.
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