Thrills, Spills and the Bible, Part 1

This weekend began early with a 2 am vomit party starring baby Joshy and located in our bed. Would we rather clean up baby barf in the middle of the night or put down a couple towels and attempt to place mind over matter and pretend it's not there? Well, we woke up with it, so there you go.

It was a most auspicious beginning to a weekend full of surprises in both liquid and psychological form. As for Josh, he did quite well. His little buddies at our playgroup suffered far more--multiple vomit sessions, diarrhea sessions and general misery for them and their poor mamas. Little did we know though that the Ides of February had much more in store.

By Friday morning I had a fever and couldn't even look at food. My greatest fear came to fruition around noon--Josh had pooped his dipe and I would have to interact with poop without losing my lunch (or breakfast rather.). Gd works in mysterious ways and held my stomach intact despite a chunky-poo filled butt-wiping session. But Gd also tests us and he had much more suffering in store for my family.

It's been years since I had a fever and forgot what it feels like--you literally feel like you are dying, that no one on earth is as uncomfortable as you and that that particular moment of suffering will go on for all of eternity, a damnation of sorts. Although in my case, I had my poor little guy crawling all over me, crying for attention, not allowing me to just sleep off the torture.

I sucked up what dignity I have retained and called my parents, who were just finishing up helping my sis with her new baby in North Jersey and were headed back to Long Island for a baby-free weekend of naps. I knew they would try to say no so I went straight to begging and crying. My mom, the tougher of the two, said "I'm sorry honey, but I am just too stressed right now, I have to get home." My dad, thank Gd, after deliberating for a good half hour, agreed to come save me from what I now hoped was merely Purgatory.