So, last week CB and I pretty much sealed the deal on this marriage thing. I mean, it’s not like we were up in the air about it before then, but there were definitely more than a few moments over the course of one day, in particular, that we both looked at each other and were like “well, we’re in this thing now!” And maybe high-fived? Which is how you seal any sort of true love pact, if you didn’t know.
You see, last Sunday I woke up feeling so dizzy that I thought I was going to be sick. The room was spinning, I couldn’t open my eyes, and I basically laid in the fetal position on our bed for about an hour until it subsided enough for me to eat something (which is always my end-game). CB rolled over to see me gripping my forehead in pain and said “You ok?”
Me: “No. I really don’t feel good.”
Me, about 30 seconds later: “Um, when I say I don’t feel good, you need to respond.”
CB, sitting up: “I was thinking about it.”
Which is when he became lucky that the room was spinning so I couldn’t locate his torso and slug him. (this is not the love part.)
But then he sprang into action, getting a cold compress for my forehead, bringing me water and a granola bar (I thought maybe I was dehydrated and/or had low blood sugar) and generally being sympathetic to my pain. Which, if we’re being honest here, is all I wanted anyhow.
Eventually, though, the spinning subsided enough for me to sit up, actually eat a proper breakfast, and even watch a little tv before deciding I just wanted to go lay down and read (note to self: when you’re feeling spinny, DON’T READ, dummy.)
Fast forward to about 15 minutes later when the room started violently spinning again so much that I was sure this was not getting better (I should really have gone to med school). So I called to CB in the other room.
Me, a little louder: “CB…..”
Me, louder and hating him: “CB!!!”
And then he came into the room. (this is still not the love part)
Me: “I’m going to be sick. Can you get me a bucket? I can’t sit up.”
And then, though my eyes were closed, I could tell that CB went into panic mode and began running, knowing that my willpower to keep from vomiting on our bed and/or floor was not quite as strong as his desire to really make sure that it didn’t happen. So within a few seconds – and a lot of banging around out in the living room and kitchen - he returned with our recycling bin and a plastic bag. Ingenius.
So I’ll skip the part where I may have missed the bag a bit or that I think all of my insides came outside at that moment while CB held the bucket (we’re circling in on the love part), and will just fast-forward to about 10 minutes later when I was finishing up a call to my OB. She insisted that it was time to head to labor and delivery and make sure baby and me were vomiting and spinning for reasons outside of baby problems. And so I slowly started to get up, with CB’s help (who was still holding the Lysol can he’d been spraying throughout the entire apartment), and we made our way into the city to get checked out.
Three hours, several tests, and an adorable ultrasound later, we were on our way back home with a referral to a neurologist because nothing was wrong with baby, and OB people just do baby stuff. (I’m paraphrasing.) I was still dizzy, but feeling good enough to sing along to the radio, and the Survivor song “The Search is Over” came on.
Don’t pretend like you don’t know that song, you guys. It’s a classic.
So I started singing along and said “It's sort of like the story of us!”
To which CB responded:
CB: “Yeah, except they left out the last verse.”
Me: “What’s the last verse?”
CB: “Where they get married and he’s cleaning up her puke. Why doesn’t someone write a song about wiping puke out of the wastebasket? Now that’s a love song.”
To which I laughed until there were tears in my eyes, high-fived him in agreement, and realized that we’d pretty much honed in on the love part of this story. Granted, our love part includes puke, but what good romance doesn’t?
Of course, apparently our love part also includes a week of CB sleeping on an air mattress in the living room so that there was no movement in our bed to make me spinny and pukey again. But if we’re being honest, I think that was a two-fold decision by CB: I have a shot at sleeping and he can sleep on his back and snore without being kicked.
I think we should definitely write a new love song.