So I spent most of the last 36 hours battling what might have been food poisoning, an overachieving 24-hour stomach flu, or simply the dietary justice meted out to those who consume Double Fudge Brownie ice cream and Cheetos before they go to bed.  Whatever it was, I can tell you that churning stomach + hyperactive fetus = bad.

Add to the mix three children who don’t understand the meaning of “Mommy is sick and you’re all heartless ******** for screaming at her when she doesn’t get your juice/band-aid/Star Wars Cheerio cereal (excuse me, puking) as fast as you think she ought to” and I think the solution is something with mathematical symbols I’m incapable of reproducing here.  To his credit, however, once Elvis saw me fully reclined and sobbing on the La-Z-Boy in the living room, he immediately went into Florence Nightingale mode.  First he got me a blanket.  Then he brought me some water (which I didn’t want, but he insisted).  Then he brought me a stuffed giraffe and, for some reason, his toy light saber.  Then he brought me some reading material.  Then he played me some music.  Then he started climbing on me and throwing things at me.  Well, it was nice while it lasted.

I feel better today, which is good because Sugar Daddy left for
Arizona again this morning, and will be gone for the rest of the week.  I had some really effed-up dreams last night, though, including one in which I went to the free clinic in the wee hours of the morning, and, as long as I was in the neighborhood, decided to go shopping at the (apparently) 24-Hour Jennifer Lopez Natural Foods Store.  I don’t know why I would dream about such a thing because I’m sure I only spend about 0% of my average day thinking about Jennifer Lopez, but there it is.  Anyway, while I was there I picked up some multi-grain bread flour and J. Lo’s special Protein Powder, which turned out to be dehydrated bananas, but it was pretty tasty nonetheless.  Well, that comes later.  While I was still at the store, pondering the nutritional wisdom of Jennifer Lopez, I realized that it was 6:10 a.m. and SD’s plane was supposed to leave at 6:40, and I’d just left him at home with all the kids and unless he’d found a sitter at 5 in the morning, there was no way he was going to make it.

Long story short, I suddenly had a cell phone and managed to work everything out so that SD could get to
Arizona, at great inconvenience to everyone but myself.  Needless to say, I felt terribly guilty and knew that I would never live this one down.  I can’t tell you how many times I then dreamed that I woke up wondering if this had actually happened, and if it had, where were my powdered bananas?  A rough night, to be sure.

But now I’m awake, J. Lo’s powdered protein bananas a thing of the past, alone with my children and a mostly-functioning digestive system.  Tonight is my last tap class of the term, and possibly my last tap class until after the baby is born.  I’m already having balance issues, and add to that the fact that tap dancing tends to result in a full uterus bouncing up and down on one’s bladder, and I just don’t think I’m going to make the Third Trimester Tipsy Tappers Team this season.  No worries, though.  Assuming the actual birth doesn’t kill me, I can start again in January.

Speaking of the actual birth, I also dreamed last night that I had the baby, and it was, of course, a boy.  Unfortunately, I can’t remember what I named him, and I’m really ticked off–especially since I still can’t shake the taste of those stupid bananas.  My subconscious has no sense of priorities.

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