...or as I came to realize about four o'clock this morning (what is it about 4:00 a.m.?), wretching excess. Now before you picture me sprawled on my couch, with my bra on a lamp and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in my limp hand, let me wipe off yer glasses. I was not hugging my toilet due to drink, no, I ate too much popcorn. That's right. Popcorn.
Joe-Henry has this wonderful program at his school where you can get a pass to see 10 "family friendly" movies for $7 (that's in quotes because while it might be suitable for the wee ones, a couple of these films have made me realize how quickly life is passing me by), but it's still a great deal, and even if only two of the movies are worth seeing, it's still an amazing price. So yesterday, we went to see "Night At The Museum", which I loved. There were a few moments where I went "Huh?", and the ending didn't really hang together, but still, it wasn't "just burn that part of my brain out" bad like "Everyone's Hero". I feel so sad to say that, because Christopher Reeve was directing it when he died, and it was Dana Reeve's last project, and I love them both. But I will choose to remember them for other things.
AAAAAnyway - I ate too much popcorn. There was no butter on it or anything, just the way I like it, but I guess I'm old now, and I can't do that to my body anymore, and it told me so. At 4:00 a.m. It was strange, because I didn't wake up groaning, or even knowing it was coming, I just felt a bit uncomfortable. I went to the bathroom, and before I knew it.... well, you know this part.
Anyway, the sound of my wretching (and really, is there any WORSE sound to wake to in the wee hours?) woke Joe-Henry and scared him to death, and he started to wail. Not cry, but wail. He was terrified. I felt so bad for him, but was powerless to do anything, as I was, um, incapacitated. And my poor husband, he came into the bathroom, saying, "Oh, baby..." and then when Joe-Henry started crying, went in to comfort him. As he said this morning, he felt selfish, because Joe-Henry never wants to be comforted by Daddy in the night, but last night, he did, and Charley was in heaven.
After I brushed my teeth and cleaned myself up, I went in to reassure Joe-Henry. We snuggled in his bed for a while, he tried to make small talk ("Hey Mom. How do you think the rings of Saturn hang in the air like that?") but he finally said, "mom I heard you and I got so, so scared." I tried my best to reassure him, but even though I started to go back to sleep, he lay there next to me with his eyes wide open. So we both went into bed with Daddy, and this morning, he didn't even want to go in the bathroom upstairs, or let me kiss him goodbye. I asked him if he was still afraid, and he said, "NO! That's not it at all!", in that way you defend yourself when you've just been completely busted.
Honestly, I know how he feels. I was 8 when my mom died, and 6 when she had a pulmonary embolism. I was the only one in the room with her when that happened, and up until she died, I was terrified when she so much as burped. I was always watching her so carefully. For anything out of the ordinary. And mommy throwing up is definitely out of the ordinary. So I understand, I really do. My worst fear is to be incapacitated in front of Joe-Henry. Not for me, but for him. It's terrifying to be a child and see your parents ailing. They are the people who keep you safe and guide you and give you the world in age appropriated dosages. Without them, the world is unknown. It rushes at you unbound, and your shield is gone.
So. Guess what? No more popcorn for me. Who knows, I may even change my diet altogether. Start working out. Get healthy.
I'll start with the popcorn.