Just Desserts

Perhaps it was because I so recently posted about the red wine - I don't know. All I know is that I spent all of yesterday in bed after an evening of what was apparently a little too much indulgence. In my defense, I didn't really drink a whole lot, though I did drink quickly and without having eaten all that much. Still, I felt fine Friday night, completely sober, even drove home (and that's something I don't fool around with). And then I had some water and a snack. I woke up Saturday, still feeling fine, until around 11am, when things started to go downhill.

One of the things about having a young child is that you seldom get any bathroom privacy. When I'm taking a shower, for instance, I don't lock the door because it's entirely possible - and likely - that my kid will suddenly need to use the bathroom "really bad." And many times, when I just want to pee in privacy, there is an ongoing conversation through the bathroom door, toys and fingers thrust under the bathroom door to say "hi," and even the occasional attempt to break down the door because my kid doesn't "like being alone, Mommy!"

Don't read this next part if you're squeamish.

I learned yesterday that throwing up is an occasion that warrants even more family togetherness. I could not get the kid out of the bathroom, and I had to throw up, so finally, I pushed him aside and got on with it. This was fascinating to him: "Wow, Mommy! I've never seen you do that!" He then proceeded to grab his little stool (for brushing teeth at the sink) and drag it over so he could have a ringside seat, as it were. So, as soon as I could, I had to physically push him out of the bathroom and close and lock the door. Then, as I stayed in there, I heard, through the door, "Wow, Mommy! That does sound very sick!"

Much later on, when I was feeling better, we snuggled and talked a little about how he had been worried about me during the day. He had noted that, when I threw up, "it was a different color" than when he has thrown up, and thought maybe that meant something bad. He had also been concerned that I was seriously ill, which he always thinks is the case whenever one of us is sick. So I was able to reassure him that everything was ok, and that none of us have ever been that sick. And then we proceeded to lie in bed together and watch "Meet the Santas" on cable. (Just by the way, I find it hard to believe that living at the North Pole means giving up entirely on style. I've seen those lovely Victorian Santas - they are dressed very nicely. Why oh why must the 2005 versions wear matching red track suits?!)