Friday, February 3, 2012
....I am a horrible nurse.
Let me back track.
It all began a few nights ago. I was playing Martha Stewart minus the jail time, getting ready for the kids' Valentine's Day party with my MOMS club. I was going way over the top as I tend to do. Cupcakes baked in ice cream cones (which I had to fashion special baking pans for), Mini pizzas with heart shaped peperoni (I cut each effing pepperoni out BY HAND with SCISSORS), and an almond and jam cake for the moms. It took hours. Once it was all finished I headed off to bed. I had an early wake up call to frost/cook/box up all that shit.
I woke up in a pool of vomit. My 10 month old (who sleeps with us because I'm too lazy to put her in her bed after she eats at night) puked all over me in her sleep. And since she wont eat solid foods (she's totally a bee-otch about food) her main sustenance is still a liquid, so it was a LOT of vomit. It was pooled up in the indentation my arm makes in the mattress. It smelled like rotten milk, because that's basically what it is, and it was cold.
I'm waking up and that brat has the balls to look up at me and smile. So hubbs and I clean it all up, change the sheets, bathe the evil one, and get back into bed to try and salvage the last hour of sleep til the other two monsters wake up. She is not having it.
She doesn't act sick. She's decided it's time to party and wants me to entertain her. She's loud enough to wake her brothers. So we get up.
It's about 6am at this point and I'm feeding them all something. I have no idea what it was, just whatever my hand landed on first in the fridge. One was probably eating pickles and apple sauce. And the other a can of minced garlic and milk. I probably mixed it together like cereal. And when they complained I'm sure I shouted something like "SHUT THE HELL UP AND EAT IT OR GO BACK TO BED AND STARVE FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE WHY DO YOU HATE ME??!!!"
I was still determined to get to the party. I made that shit, and someone was going to eat it and tell me what an amazing cook I am and how in the world could I have made it all in one night. And I was going to say "oh it was no big deal. I love doing it and the kids get to help out!" This would all be a lie.
I tried to convince myself that the baby just ate too much and puked some of it back up. So I gave her some cut up bananas and started to frost the cakes. She ate the bananas and I nursed her. No sooner had she finished boob #2, when she puked up an entire banana and 4 ounces of milk all over me. And smiled. I hated her.
I cleaned up again but left on my vomit clothes because I was sure it would happen again.
Some stuff happened that I can't remember until lunch time.
Since I wasn't able to take the pizzas to the party I was going to make them for lunch. Like I said SOMEONE was going to eat that shit.
They were getting all toasty in the oven when I hear the sound I love most in the world "MMOOOOMMMMYYYYY!!!!"
"what"
"HHEENNNRRYYY WAS SWINGING HIS HAPPY NAPPER AROUND AND KNOCKED OVER A WHOLE DRINK ALL OVER YOUR COMPUUUUUUTER!!"
"shit".
Downstairs I go to clean up the diet soda (the LAST of my diet soda I might add. That stuff is my own personal meth.) that was spilled, no, FLUNG all over the basement. Forgot about the pizzas. The house starts filling up with smoke.
I tear up the steps, fling open the oven and grab the trays forgetting I had covered them in parchment (first and last time. Martha Stewart be damned) and the stupid things go FLYING off of the trays all over the bottom of the oven and like little mini Frisbees launch themselves throughout my kitchen. Some land on me, cheese side down. It melted my skin like napalm.
I go to grab the second tray, and do the same damn thing. I know, I know, I'm a moron. But it happened.
I panicked. The pizzas on the heating element were about to catch fire. They were burning my hands. I could only find a cheap plastic thing to dig them out with. Which promptly melted on the elements.
The boys saw the pizzas and started freaking out because they didn't want pizzas for lunch. I was THIS CLOSE to serving them the face down dirty ass pizzas just because they are ungrateful a-holes. But I didn't.
The baby was losing it about, well, who the hell knows. Whatever she loses it about.
Then it hit me. I RAN to the bathroom and began my own course down the stomach flu road.
The rest of the day was a blur. I'm not even sure I was awake for any of it. I may have just stuck them all in the closet and left them there til my husband got home.
The next day was a bit less traumatic, but since I was the only sick one, and the kids were healthy and CRAZY, it was still a bit of a nightmare.
This is why I smell like vomit and have the same clothes on from 2 days ago. Don't drop by for about a week.
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