Gastointestinal Freak Show

One would think this blog is about my family's health issues.  It is not intended to be.  In fact, before the little angel made an appearance in our lives, I had not visited a doctor other than the girl one in several years.  What is it about children?  Are they just walking petri dishes?  Probably.  This last one, though, can't be blamed on the little angel.

Saturday night, my beloved and I ordered Chipotle.  I hate to blame it on them, but there really is no other explanation.  I thought the hot salsa tasted a bit off, but I was starving and scarfed it down anyway.  Around 3 a.m, the horrors began.

I won't go into detail. Anyone who has ever had food poisoning knows it is akin to kidney stones in that you wish you were dead for several hours, then feel fine.  I was most unprepared for the aftermath of severe exhaustion, during which I laid on the couch under a fluffy blanket, watching the little angel out of the corner of one heavy eye, seeing her get into things and helpless to do anything more than yell to the beloved to stop her from choking/knocking a chair onto herself/unplugging the carbon monoxide detector/strangling the cat/chewing wires.  She still managed to take one fall that left a small mark above her left eyebrow - her first bruise.  That is happened on my watch my very well follow me to my grave.  But I was too sick to care at the time.

After a day on the couch, a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade, some Kaopectate and about sixteen hours of sleep, I awoke this morning, tested my limbs (I've always wanted to say that) and found that I AM FINE!  HOORRAAAYY!!!  I feel NOOOORRMMAAAALL!!!  And normal is good! Normal is great!  How silly I am to not always be  jubilant about feeling normal!  Normal, but afraid of Chipotle.