The Couple that Pukes Together, Stays Together

I really hope that when Jake and I are old, we are not dying at the same time. I am talking about the horrible, long drawn-out dying part, not the actually death part. I know that sounds kind of morbid, but believe me, it is something that I am quite sure of after this week. When we are suffering, we are two useless, compassionless, peas in a pod.

It all started in the middle of the night when Jake woke up and announced that he didn’t feel good, and thought he was going to throw up. I mumbled, “Oh, really?” but what I thought was, “Whatever. Suck it up!” Then, I proceeded to hear him throwing up in the bathroom. Still, I was not fully convinced that it was “real,” and I tried very hard to go back to sleep and pretend I did not hear it.

Two hours later I am awakened by a feeling of nausea. I fight the urge to go the bathroom, because I know the smell will surely make me throw up. The baby starts crying. I run into Abe’s room. I feed him, rock him. Then, I start sweating from nausea and run into the bathroom and throw up.

At first I totally thought I was having sympathy throw-ups for Jake. Not because I felt sorry for him, but because ever since I had all of that morning sickness, even the sound of someone throwing up makes me dry heave. Then, I got back into bed and started feeling the aches and chills. Then, I started making my little cries of pain, because it makes me feel better. Jake gets mad at me for making these sounds and goes downstairs in a huff, dragging our comforter with him.

The rest of the day pretty much went like that. Lots of huffing, cries of pain, and blanket dragging. Except it was spent on our backs in between periods of wakefulness and totally passed out. Every once and awhile Jake would tell me to “Shut up!” and I would tell him that he smelled. Thank GOD Grandma Jillsy was there to make sure Abe wasn’t riding Ozzie around the house, and he wasn't drinking all of our beer.

We aren’t exactly sure what happened, but we really think it was food poisoning. My mom’s (By the way -- she was totally awesome taking care of Abe and making us chicken noodle soup and planting flowers in our backyard -- I just have to put that in there before I make fun of her. I love you mom!) first reaction was, “Oh my God! I hope you guys aren’t sick! I can’t get sick! I have a dinner to go to this weekend!!!” And then kept coming up to me all day saying, “It has to be food poisoning. Yes. Food poisoning. That is what I think it is.” And then later on, “You know, Bri, I am pretty sure it is food poisoning. You know, it has to be food poisoning.” Perhaps her power of persuasion willed away the sickness from her and Baby Abe, and I am SO HAPPY that it did not get to them.

So, after some internet investigation and botulism was ruled (you guys know how I am psycho) slowly the color in our faces returned, and we started sitting more and more upright. The second day wasn’t as bad, and we actually slept in the same bed. My tiny cries of pain had subsided, and Jake didn’t yell at me anymore. But, that is why I really hope that at least one of us is healthy to take care of the other one, because I am afraid we will say things we regret at such a critical time when you need to say tender things. But, then again, maybe “Shut up” and “You smell” are terms of endearment for us then. At least we know what to expect.