To hurl, or not to hurl? That is the question.

Post #3 dedicated to my crazy week . . .
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~ This was the day for my follow up appointment from my oral surgery. It took a lot of finagling to figure out babysitters for my kids and getting Jonah off to school. But I had it all worked out. I was feeling pretty prepared and eager to get the insanely obnoxious stray strings from my stitches cut out. I felt that I would truly slip over the very thin ledge to insanity if that fishing line poked the bottom of my tongue one more time!
Well, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz . . . Jonah (a.k.a. Hurl King) wakes up complaining that his tummy hurts. He's definitely not acting normal and so the big green puke bowl becomes his wingman. Throughout breakfast he moans and cries for daddy (I wasn't being nearly sympathetic for his liking) and generally makes a fuss. "Are you sure you're not just hungry Jonah?" I keep asking. "Do you want to try eating something?" He just moans louder and hugs his bowl tighter. A couple times I think he might really hurl, I wipe his brow with a cold cloth and push the bowl up under his chin, but nothing comes of it.

When it's time to take Kolbi to school, Jonah's still acting very green and I'm feeling the stitches considering pulling the suckers out myself! After dropping Kolbi off, the periodontist's office is now open. I call and report that my kid is sick and I'm going to have to reschedule. The next available appointment is in 2 weeks!! I'll be in the loony bin by then! As I'm in the middle of my phone conversation (and having already cancelled my appointment), I hear Jonah in the back of the van say, "Mom, I think I'm okay. I think I'm just hungry." I peer at him in the rear view mirror and indeed he looks quite sunny and fine. I tell the receptionist to please put me back down for today and I will call back to cancel if he actually hurls.

Now I engage in a great internal debate. Should I still send him to my friends' house and potentially expose her kids? They just got over passing the gamboo around. What if I give it to them again by sending my potentially contagious monkey over there? What if I'm solely responsible for the medical downfall of their family? (Okay, I know, I'm a bit of a drama queen too). I call my friend and explain the sitch'. Being the saint that she is, my friend convinces me that it will be okay. If he throws up, then what are you gonna do. She tells me to bring them over anyways. In fact, she almost orders me to bring them over (she knows me too well!).

I end up taking my kids over. I fret the whole time that perhaps he's hurling right now? What have I done to my friend? But I go to my appointment anyways. As I'm walking in I hear lots of whispered tones from the office staff . . . "Look, she made it! I guess he's okay." I get the stitches cut (actually she PULLED the suckers out~ not what I was expecting or prepared for). The Doc says it all looks surprisingly good (He expected part of the gum to die off, but Noooo, my gums are just to stubborn ~I keep surprising him with my healing abilities). I rush back to pick up my kiddos ~prepared to apologize profusely~ but as I walk through the door, Jonah is all wildness, smiles, and sunshine. All that drama for nothing. I took him home, shoveled lunch at him, and sent him off to school to potentially infect all of the other little monkies in his class. All's well that ends well, but sometimes I really just wish he'd make up his mind!

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Up next: You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.