Monday, September 26, 2011

Sometimes I Just Can't Hold It In (You'll See, That's a Play on Words)

I do try to apply some sort of filter between my life and the things I blog about. Honestly, I don't react to everything I see or hear by writing it down and publishing it. I curate, I edit, I ruminate on what would and wouldn't make an interesting post.

Except today I have to write this down as it happens. Because it may end with me vomiting.

You've got to capture these moments as they happeneth.
 But first some lovely nostalgia. I have very clear memories of the night before Precocious Daughter was born. I was the size of a whale. But my due date was the first week of December, and here it was, still two days before Thanksgiving. I wasn't thinking about going into labor. I made a yummy dinner of pasta for Beloved Spouse and me, and later we took a walk. That night I went to bed, fully expecting to go to work the next day before enjoying the four-day holiday weekend.

Pregnant ladies (and men, I guess - I don't want to judge): Don't ever ignore the full moon when it comes close to the end of your term. Turns out those old wives know their shit.

The stork needs the light to fly by. Duh.
So my water broke around two in the morning, and as dawn was breaking, I was at the hospital in the throes of labor. By noon I would be a mom, BelSpouse would be a dad, and PDaughter would be wearing one of those adorable little skull caps they give the new babies to wear. It was the best day of my life.

But first I threw up all the pasta I had eaten for dinner.

I don't know why no one tells you that you're going to vomit during labor. I attended the birth of my sister's first child, and she vomited during labor, and I forgot about it. Maybe I blocked it out. You don't want to see your big sister throw up when you haven't been getting drunk together. Be that as it may be, hurling my entire dinner came as a complete surprise.

Also, I had no idea I had eaten so much. What an oinker.
 Have you ever thrown up pasta? Specifically, pasta in marinara sauce? There is a distinctive smell to it. Once you've yakked up marinara sauce, the pungent combination of tomato, basil, and stomach acid is imprinted in your memory forever. In my case, this was neither the first nor the last time I had parted company with an Italian dinner on less than amicable terms. So I'm pretty well acquainted with that particular aroma.

You might say I'm a connoisseur of Creosotean proportions.
 Be honest: Do you kind of want to throw up right now? Because you know how being around throw-up can make you want to throw up yourself sometimes. Or maybe just reading my description of pasta-sauce vomit. Or just thinking about it. Can you sort of even smell it in your imagination, and it's trying to trigger your gag reflex right now?

Here's why I ask. My boss is eating lunch, which he heated up in our office microwave a minute ago. It smells exactly like pasta-sauce vomit. Like pasta in marinara sauce...that has already been puked up. Seriously. The whole damn office smells like that shit.

I don't want to say anything, because hey, it's his lunch. And maybe his wife made it or something. And also I'm afraid that if I open my mouth for any reason, I'm going to vomit. Because it totally smells like puke in here.

So I'm trying to type my way through this. Take my mind off the smell until it dissipates. This would be a very bad day for the building's ventilation system to go on the fritz. Very bad indeed.

I'd like to apologize for the tastelessness and, uh, viscerality of today's post. As I said, my filters are off today. But some things you just have to share. Thank my boss. And his puke-pasta.

I'm going to take a little walk in the fresh air now. And then make alternative plans for dinner. I was going to make Italian. Yeah.

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