Thursday, February 10, 2005
I Think This Recent Stomach Bug Our Daughter Had Will Beat Out Paris Hilton’s Rumored Spread in Playboy AND Her Upcoming CD. Really, It was That Bad.
As we stumble toward mid-February, I think I’ve set the low-point bar for the year: Waking up at 2:25 a.m. on the floor of our daughter’s room, where I and said daughter have been drifting in and out sleep, (half) lying on a crib mattress, in between daughterly performance-pieces of screaming and conjuring up bile every 20 or 30 minutes. I imagine it’s like what’s been said about Vietnam . . . long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. Bad enough to launch Michelle into a full-blown panic attack. And this was two crib sheets and two sleepers after the messy part. Because surely, when you’re a toddler, “messy” doesn’t feel like dying, as dry heaves probably do.