Yesterday was a bruiser. I took my big girls to two birthday parties downtown. There were a lot of logistics to consider, presents and costumes to tote, and sugar to consume. I knew that by evening, my kids and I would be spent. And we were. We went to my mother's briefly to say hello and so the girls could play with their cousin. I was tired, but felt good. At home, the girls were quick to bed and my husband and I were quick to the couch. He turned on the Giants game and I snuggled up next to him, nodding off on his shoulder. I awoke at various points of the game, the highlights I'd like to think. When the game was over, I realized that I was not feeling good. When I stood, I was dizzy and ran for the bathroom. I spent the rest of the night between my bed and the bowl.
The stomach flu. I can't remember the last time I had it, but this was a wicked bout. I spent a chunk of the night curled up on the cold tile by the toilet and by morning I felt utterly emptied and impossibly week. What's interesting is that while I was getting sick, I thought of the times in college when I'd get sick from drinking too much. For some odd reason, it was usually on a Sunday morning when this would happen. I would race to the toilet in my little dingy bathroom of my off-campus apartment and vomit up white wine. It was disgusting and I remember thinking the whole thing was an utterly appropriate collegiate happening and also quite funny.
I haven't gotten sick from drinking in ages. It seems my body reacts differently now and when I go too far my body just shuts down. I usually pass out, and sometimes I do not remember parts of the night. This embarrasses me to write this, to admit this, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe that's a reason. I don't want these things to happen anymore.
Anyway. Today is a lost cause. I have no strength, or appetite. Thankfully, no one else seems to be sick. Yet.