John was pan frying some turkey meatballs tonight and the house started to fill with smoke. (John is a fantastic cook, but I’ve never met anyone who can make anything and everything smoke like he can in a pan). Our house monitoring system sprung into action, a stern female voice loudly alerting us that there was smoke in the living room. It was straight out of the Hunger Games, the speaker frightening the baby into a full panic. That ended her dinner and kept her on edge the rest of the night, waving ‘ah bye’ to the scary little square high up in the corner of the living room.
On my way to a doctor appointment today I caught a glimpse of a billboard on the freeway, advertising specifically to people with small chins. I really wish I’d been able to read the rest of the sign. I guess if you’re being stuck in traffic is as good a time as any to consider the size of your chin.
I came down with the fall flu over the weekend and spent a brutal three days with terrible stomach pain and heartburn. Sunday was pretty rough, and minus a miserable trip to the grocery store (similar to do not shop while hungry, do not shop while sick–food will never be appealing again) I spent most of the day on the couch. Special thanks to John for taking the lead on baby activities. On Monday, I took the baby to preschool, then drove across town to pick up some sick-supplies, trying to avoid seeing anyone from my work who would try to wrangle me into the office. John was actually home that day, and we posted up on the couch, with John leaving in small intervals to let in various workers to renovate our bathroom and fix our roof from Matthew damage.
I did think it was hilarious that the day John had scheduled the bathroom renovations was the one day I’ve been sick enough to stay home, with the flu. And be pregnant. Luckily, I was so dehydrated it didn’t matter.
That night I actually felt a lot better, until about 1am when I woke up with such painful heartburn that I couldn’t fall back asleep. My cure for heartburn has always been a spoonful of vanilla ice cream, so, at about 1:30am I headed to the freezer to see if we had any in our, embarrassingly large, ice cream stash. The only dairy ice cream we had was chocolate-chocolate chip, so I ate a spoonful, stacked all the pillows in the house on my side of the bed so I was basically sleeping upright, and waited to fall asleep. Instead, I threw up everything I’d eaten that day.
When I told the doctor I had the flu he asked if I had gotten any mosquito bites the week prior. The mosquitoes are swarming right now. I mean swarming. It’s extremely odd, since it’s been a lot cooler at night and much less humid by Charleston standards. Not mosquito conditions. So I said, of course, many bites on my feet and he scolded me for not wearing Deet and ordered a Zika test.
Five people have been diagnosed with Zika in South Carolina. Compare that to the 5 bazillion mosquitoes and the odds are pretty low. Hopefully.
Tomorrow I’m taking the baby to a Trunk-or-Treat at my friend’s church. I can’t wait for her to see the other kids dressed up, and I can’t wait to reveal her puppy Halloween costume. It’s seriously that cute. But you’ll have to wait until next week!
PS-Facebook reminded me that it’s been four years since John and I went to Vegas to see Garth Brooks. The only thing that’s changed is we live 3,000 miles away, that LBD will probably never fit me right again, we never actually go out, I don’t really drink and we’re about to have two kids. And John no longer wears his hair in a Mohawk. #throwbackthursday