Thursday, January 20, 2011

Barfing Belles--God Help Us All

I can't make any representations about how this entry is going to turn out.  Baby Belle 1 and I are quarantined in one room of the house with the flu.  As my father likes to say, I feel like I have to get better to die.  I have noticed, however, that the crippling head pounding in my ears abates when I sit upright, so I've at least got that going for me, I suppose.  Woohoo.

Of course, if we were really squinting for the silver lining, I guess you could say that the cooties have at least given me the topic for the day.  My fabulously wonderful paralegal sent me a text a little while ago asking me how I was feeling.  The following is my verbatim response:  "Like re-heated shit.  Like a skydiver who's parachute didn't open.  Like a root canal without drugs.  Like being sentenced to a lifetime of tax law classes with a migraine."

That's when it hit me--the general consensus is that men turn into total babies when they get sick while women keep the stiff upper lip and suffer quietly, continuing on with their chores and obligations.  Hmmm...well...on occassion, that is the truth to an extent, but there is a certain quantitative (hey, I married a geek) difference applied in some Southern households:  Southern Belles are the original drama queens. 

O.D.Q., holla!

The beloved Aunt Pitty Pat in Gone with the Wind never, ever, ever, evereverever missed an opportunity to fall conspicuously and ostentatiously into fits of the vapours.  Even Scarlett herself declared from her labor bed that she would be electing the "Abstinence Plan" in order to prevent having to go through that again.  Most anything said could be said better with the back of the hand across the forehead--preferably from a ladies' fainting couch, but we can make do in a pinch.

Take my adorable Baby Belles, for example.  Baby Belle 1 is a five-star drama queen and Baby Belle 2 is a little more subtle in her approach.  This week is the flu, but last week, the Council House was under an attack from a stomach bug (we live in a damned petrie dish).  Baby Belle 2 was the first to get it and there was no warning whatsoever.  One second, she was asleep and then she sat up and just barfed all over her unsuspecting Mama.  When she was done with her most current attack of nausea, she would go off to play and do her thing and would only return to Mama or Daddy when she felt the need to vomit thereby coating a parent yet again.

Then Baby Belle 1 caught it.  I do so wish I could nominate that child for an Oscar.  She cried and wailed and carried on in a dramatic performance that would put the great Meryl Streep to shame.  When she felt an attack coming on, she would start screaming which was my cue to take her into the bathroom and:


Sobbing, wailing, then sobbing uncontrollably annnnnnnnnnd...scene.

Baby Belle 1 also makes these whimpering noises that completely freak the dogs out because they think that another dog has come onto their turf.   

Of course, I can't judge Baby Belle 1 too harshly because she gets that drama queen gene from her mother.  I hate getting sick and it tends to make me really, really cranky.  I also hatehatehate to go to the doctor and my aversion doesn't help things much. 

As a matter of fact, about a month ago, I was patting myself on the back for the fact that I had managed to stay out of my GP's office for over a year and a half.  As Murphy's Law would have it, I started to feel sick shortly thereafter. 

I couldn't hear, was very congested and then I thought my face was going to explode off of my head.  I tried really hard to play it cool, but by Day 3, it was pretty impossible to keep up a cover with the pain like it was.  Scott tried to reason with me that going to the doctor would be a good idea, but I stalwartly refused by saying that I didn't feel well enough to subject myself to ten hours in a waiting room next to Meningitis Myrtle and Frank Flu.  Then, Scott stopped playing nice and all but booted my butt out the door to go to the walk-in clinic.

Suffice it to say that I did not acquiesce with lady-like deportment.  I sat in the waiting room constantly texting ummm...less than lady-like...messages to my husband as to how I didn't want to be there and what I thought of his tactics.  There were one or twelve four-letter words thrown in for good measure.  Scott texted back telling me to shut up and take my medicine whereupon I bristled at the indignity of it all.

The doctor told me that I had a double ear infection, a sinus infection with completely impacted sinuses and pneumonia in my left lung.  I wasn't overjoyed to hear the news, but not for the reason that you might think.  Of course, I wasn't happy to be that sick, but I was more unhappy to hear the news because it meant that I had to apologize to my husband.  Sigh...

So, Scott my love, if I didn't say it sufficiently before, I am terribly horribly sorry about my Bad Belle behavior.  Poor thing, living in an house with five females (including the dogs) have no safe port in a storm.  I shall henceforth take every measure to not place the back of the hand on my forehead whilst making declarations of misery.  Of course, that's cold comfort considering that Baby Belle 1 is a nuclear level drama queen...yes, the student has now become the master and we are so screwed.

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