August: Dog Days of Summer

Monday, November 19, 2012


We are supposed to get on an airplane tomorrow. Two, actually. The kids and I are going to my Brother's in Utah for Thanksgiving (And no, they're not Mormon. Because I knew that's what you were thinking.) My kids adore their cousins, and they have never been to visit them. Then Sophie started barfing at dinner. Apparently, this stomach bug has been making the rounds in their school. Out came her dinner- I timed it perfectly so she was very tidy about getting it right into a tupperware container I had just handed her- while I held her hair. One really great thing about being a Doula- barf does not phase me in the least. I've been puked on countless times- sometimes projectile, sometimes even getting a splatter in the mouth. Phased? Not a bit. Turned my own tummy? Not a bit. I'm just one of those people. It's just another bodily fluid. No biggie. But when it's timed with an impending vacation? I'm phased. I didn't let her take another sip of anything before bath and bed. She's barfed a few more times- but not much after the initial launch. Now she's basically just dry-heaving. I let her rinse her mouth, but no sips of anything yet. I'm going to starve this fucking bug right out of her little body. Because we are going on this vacation. I need this break. I need to hang with my brother and cook cranberries and put on my eatin' pants and stuff myself silly, then pass out from all the turkey tryptophan. I need Thanksgiving vacation. It's like heroin. Maybe I'll just strap some kind of feed bag around her neck to get on the plane so she can simply put her chin down and barf into it. I hope Alex doesn't get this bug. Or me. I have some eating to do. I'd like to keep Thanksgiving down.
Getting on an airplane is traumatic enough for me. I HATE flying. It terrifies me- and I don't mean, "oh, yeah, traveling is such a hassle, I hate it to.." I mean I'm the one you see saying prayers, holding special talismans, crying in my seat and burying my face into the shoulder of the huge stranger spilling over their seat into the space of mine. I'm THAT one. I have a ritual (many, actually) when I get on a plane- I go to the cockpit and have a little chat with the pilots, and shed some tears so they know how serious I am. We've been flying with the kids since they were 6 months old, and I"ve sincerely tried to diminish this in front of them- I don't want them to adopt this same fear. I can't hide the fact that I'm terrified, though- they know how scared I am. And they're getting to the age where they comfort me- so far, they haven't adopted my fear for themselves. I hope they don't because it's seriously debilitating. It's my worst thing. It turns me into a completely irrational, blithering idiot. When we land, I'm fine. If there are bumps, I freak. If there are bumps in the clouds, I freak. If there are clouds, I freak. I'm better if I can see the ground. I can get distracted when I can see the ground. Not a whole lot else helps. Except having my kids with me. I am also better when I'm with my kids- because I really do know that I should and do try to squelch the intensity of my fear. I don't want them to see it in all it's full regalia. It's not pretty.   Add potential barfing to this equation, and tomorrow could be REALLY interesting. Wish me luck.
Oh- did I mention I've had a horrible sore throat all day that's getting worse and turning into a cough?
Because I don't have enough stacked against me for taking this trip tomorrow.
Did I mention how much I hate flying?
Aaaaaaand my Bears just got smashed by the 49ers. Think I'll go vomit.

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