A few people exercise to lose weight and a few more go on a strict diet to shed those extra pounds. A Lazy few like me are fortunate enough to get diarrhea.
It all started with Baby no. 1 demanding that I cook something sweet that day. Unfortunately I am not one of those moms who will embark on a cooking spree at 2 in the afternoon just to please their toddlers. There are other ways to please them, one of which being driving to the store and buying the desired dessert. Which is what I did. Because if you discount the trouble of coaxing kids into a car seat, driving is much better than cooking when you have just finished lunch and loaded the dishwasher to its maximum capacity.
The ulterior motive behind driving to the store was that sweet tooth runs in my family and by that I mean my Mom and Dad and Uncle and Aunt and cousins and the list goes on, basically, MY own family. Many find it strange that I still put my parents and the extended family on that side before anybody else when I talk about family. Tradition demands that once married, your husband’s family is your family and it should take precedence. I happen to have a different take on it. Well, I am not saying that I am not a part of my husband’s family, but do you honestly expect me to consider anybody at par with the mother who gave birth to me or the father who dots on me since the day I was born or my sibling who I grew up with? Folks, I am not going to mince words here, the in- laws are very special to me, the bond with them tremendously strong, but my parents’ place in my heart is irreplaceable. I would be doing a hell lot of injustice to them if I allowed that.
See this is the problem of amateur writers; they don’t know a thing about keeping a story on track.
So we were discussing a sweet tooth. We came back with a box full of goodies. Thank God that baby no. 1 fell asleep in the car and baby no. 2 was too small to have store bought desserts. Both these occurrences, on which I had no control, sealed my fate. There lay the box of sweets right in front of me with nowhere to go but the tummy. Fast forward 2 hours later, I am horribly sick with food poisoning and the house is in chaos as hubby can’t figure out who to attend to and how.
The downside of being an adult is when you are sick, you can’t wail at the top of your voice and you got to figure out how sick you are. Do you need a doctor or will waiting help? Should you take some medicine or give it some time? Decisions, decisions. Things were simpler when medicine was poured down your throat whether you wanted it or not.
I was miserable all day and had asked to be left alone in the room to get some rest. But as hours passed I wasn’t sure if I was feeling any better, in fact emotionally I was feeling sicker. I wanted a hand on my forehead gently trying to put me to sleep. I wanted the reassurance of being told that I was going to be all better soon. I longed to hear those stern words telling me to eat something even if I felt like throwing up.
Since I was unavailable, the kids needed even more of their Dad. He tried his best to juggle duties with little success. I was sick, but I was not a child.
Children change life irrevocably. You can’t afford to be weak when you are parents. Your children look up to you and you can’t let them down. Knowing this didn’t stop me from being a little girl again.
Way past mid-night I sat in the rocking chair in the guest bedroom, unable to hold it any longer. Silent tears gave way to sobs and soon I was shivering and crying uncontrollably. A very light sleeper, hubby rushed into the room in panic assuming the worst. Since I wouldn't stop crying, he couldn’t figure out what I wanted and kept on asking what he could get for me. And between muffled sobs I said I want my Mommy, NOW.