For the record, I never threw up last week.
But I am starting to wonder if that would have been the better plan. The other inhabitants did their business and recovered, lickety-split. I took the tidier route - no mess, extended belly ache.
Whine, whine, whine, and not a drop to drink, because it isn't friendly to the gut.
But it explains a lot. I am a better mother and saner woman in the absense of pain.
I helped in the classrooms, got the groceries, did what I said I would. But I was grimacing and grouchy with the kids. Snappy. Impatient. Using crappy parenting skills because I just couldn't or wouldn't summon up the energy to do the good mother thing.
Oh, and did I mention Greg was out of town?
By Tuesday, I was hustling out of my scuzzy homebound clothes into Proper Parent Volunteer Attire when I had a meltdown. At 36. Because I couldn't find the neutral, buff colored bra that I wear under light shirts. The bra I can wear with anything. The one bra to rule them all. It was missing.
My cheerful disposition was seriously in jeopardy.
But I managed to get dressed, like a big girl, and spent the afternoon helping 3rd graders through the writing process.
I'm feeling better today; I'm turning the corner.
And I am stocking up on the Holy Bras, just in case.
bras insanity pain stomachache