I put myself on a bit of a writing sabbatical, primarily due to the exhaustion I have been experiencing since I shot Sawyer out of my lower half 18 months ago. He’s great and all but a bit of a handful, as his new favorite words are no and no said in a shrieking tone and he’s discovered this charming talent of open palm slapping me like we’re two bitches on Housewives of The Fatherland and he’s the Queen B. Just last night I told Mr. H he’s been a real dick since coming back from Maine and I mean it.
Then I decided less than a year after birthing one child to go to Paris, get drunk off an obscene amount of champagne, force Mr. H into some sexy relations, which unfortunately wasn’t even a good performance on my part because I was hammered and he was sober from watching our child while I was out behaving like a spinster with one of my girlfriends. Actually, this is a good story, you’ll all love it and it’ll get us right back on track.
So my friend Amber and I are taking on Paris, drinking our way through cafes and ordering more champagne than famous people do. We’re stalking older, foreign men again, (refer to this old post if you forgot about Mr. Universe) wearing red lipstick and behaving generally terrible. After two days of this, I wander up to my hotel room back to Mr. H and Sawyer, throw myself on the bed and start wailing into his lap about missing her and DC and home and how I need to be with my girlfriends and I’m face down laying in his lap and sobbing. That somehow leads me to treat him like a lollipop which then leads me to treat him like a rodeo and I’m sure all this doesn’t last too long because he’s sober and I’m behaving like a trainwreck and next thing I know, I wake up the next morning with my shirt and bra on, no pants, one sock and the realization that I forgot to pee after my sexual assault and should probably shower.
5 weeks later I’m pregnant. I can’t wait to tell my children their conception stories one day.
Now it’s been 33 weeks, I’m massive and pregnant, I’m going to have a second child any day now, or so I assume since my doctor is probably not qualified to teach 8th grade science, forget practice medicine, and I realize I have been withholding a lot of stories in the past year just because I’m lazy, fucking tired and require sedation more than ever.
For some reason today, I’m motivated to jump back into the writing game so now, more about my near death experience that occurred this week. I’m going to be graphic about this and talk shit about the Germans to give the full experience.
So Friday night I wake up in the middle of the night needing to throw up and piss poison water out of my ass for no good reason around 2am. Let me remind you that I am not moving fast these days but the urgency of this situation was either soil myself or MOVE. From that point on, I spent the next four days unable to swallow because the amount of bile that had crept into my throat was outrageous and I was projectile pooing something that resembled the depths of a pond out of my ass every twenty minutes for four days. Seriously, I think I saw algae and corn come out one time in the same sitting which isn’t possible because I didn’t eat corn and I don’t know why pond algae would be in my vile intestines. Let’s also keep in mind my vagina is still leaking a substance close to Elmer’s glue because being a woman is super and like Mr. H pointed out to me the other day, my left boob has taken to leaking whenever it pleases, mostly when I choose not to wear a bra.
Four days of this. Four days of me also sleeping like I’m in a narcolepsy competition and also of me moaning and weeping and tossing myself from side to side in every sleeping vehicle we have in the house. Nothing was comfortable. I hate the new bed Chris made us buy. I think it’s filled with poison that seeps into my back and makes me emotionally unstable. I love the spare bed, especially since it’s low to the floor now but it’s covered in that god awful flannel sheet Mr. H and his mother picked out and I CANNOT DO FLANNEL IN ANY MONTH BUT DECEMBER. I feel like it’s setting me on fire and is going to swallow me and I can’t hang my feed out of the bed because of that fucking movie Paranormal Activity so I just can’t sleep there either. The couch is out most nights because it’s usually covered in cookie crumbs and there’s not a ton of room to mimic the lifestyle of a starfish and I’m positive my husband isn’t impressed with leaving him in the bedroom with our pushy, selfish toddler who likes the big bed lately and two usually wet dogs that snore louder and more intensely than a 400 pound man.
So on the fourth day of projectile spitting of bodily fluids out of every hole I have, I give up and go to the German doctor who pokes me a bunch of times, tells me I look terrible and sends me straight to the hospital. The voodoo hospital where I gave birth and received ibuprofen as a pain killer. So I’m there for a day hooked up to IVs and munching on those charcoal pills they like to give out, with a side of that bitter tree bark pill they insist on, drinking their warm fizzy water and staring at a wall for 12 hours. There is no internet or TV in German hospitals and so sleep is your option. I actually didn’t mind this because was really enjoying all the sleep and it meant I didn’t have to do anything for a day but think of all the reasons Germans treat each other this way and the only thing I could come up with is that they’re all training each other for some upcoming Hunger Games event and it’s survival of the fittest and they want you ready.
I would certainly die in the first round, if by considerations of German standards, I think. Eating tree bark pills has made me no stronger a person than when I had access to real antibiotics in quantities that could kill a horse.
Then I went home, slept for another day and now today I’m back at work and eating solid foods and have not had any leaking of any kind come out of any hole of my body. And, I’m back to writing, which I miss the most about things I accidentally gave up in taking on motherhood.
Today is a good day.