I had a migraine last night. I felt it sneaking up on me, so I took some aspirin-free Excedrin. Then I took Maxalt. It didn’t budge, so I took Zofran for the nausea, Flexeril to relax, and gave myself an intramuscular injection of Toradol (the impressive anti-inflammatory the emergency room gives you for migraines).
Impressive, I know.
So I end up in a dark room, curled in a ball, waiting for the pain to go away. Car puts on a movie for the kids, and then he apparently decides to bake cookies. Yes, he’s a domestic god. But making cookies distracts him from the most important task–keeping the kids away from poor, incapacitated mommy.
There I am in the darkened room. I hear little footsteps. Oh, look! Little G has come to visit me. I figure hey, if he starts bugging me, I can call for Car. Little G climbs up on the bed. How sweet! He wants to be next to his mommy! So he crawls over my head (Why crawl over a leg? Where’s the fun in that?) and as he does this, I feel something wet on my face. This is concerning. Then…the smell. It’s like something has died in his diaper. And now my cheek is damp, which is highly concerning.
This entire episode ends with:
- Yelling for Car.
- Vigorously scrubbing my face.
- Car wondering what we feed Little G to deserve such punishment.
I’m sharing this experience so you can have a laugh at my expense. I also think it’ll be lovely natural birth control for young couples. What can I say? I’m a giver. If you’re totally grossed out and wish you’d never read this post, well, join the club. You read my blog, and must suffer with me. (*insert evil laughter*)
*For some reason I’m much more comfortable with the word “poop” than I am with “poo.” I have no idea why.