Sunday, March 27, 2011


I hate this part. I hate the waiting. If he stays asleep (i.e. doesn’t vomit) for an hour, I know he’s good to go, I can lay back down and not have to worry about being woken by barf in my ear/hair/general vicinity.

Meanwhile, I try to quell the gross feeling in my own stomach—how do other people do it?—and convince myself that I’m not sick. It’s just something he ate. It was one of the non-normal things he ate at the party. I’m not sick. No need to be dramatic about it.

And I wait an hour. Ugh. Gross.

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