Rocket Launcher

Have you ever regretted taking Ex-Lax because of the incredibly painful consequences of those little pills? Well, I’ve only taken them once, years ago, when I was at the beach with my roommate, Naomi, and her family stuffed me like a Thanksgiving turkey. That resulting inability to relieve the built up pressure was just about as bad as what one suffers during pregnancy. I erroneously thought that Ex-Lax was a “gentle reliever” - - no one ever explained to me that I would have some of the worst diarrhea (promise I won’t mention that word again in this post) distress of my life.

As it were, I can still remember writhing, moaning, and groaning in the bathroom just wishing I were dead. But, that cannot in any way compare to my most recent episode.

Two days ago, I either caught a bug, got food poisoning, or merely neglected to heat up the deli ham before I made my sandwich. I don’t remember why, but during pregnancy, you’re not supposed to eat deli meat without heating it up first.

Anyway, about 5:00 p.m., I started having the most painful gastrointestinal torture ever. I won’t go into details about what horrors emerged from my body, but suffice it to say that it wasn’t pleasant and I was in unbelievable anguish.

The pain was intense and in between visits to the bathroom of which I lost count, I tried to help Jeff with dinner and the kids, but all I could do was writhe on the sofa and moan incoherently. I couldn’t eat or drink because just the thought of it made me sick. Jeff finally told me to go upstairs and lay down…which I tried to do, but it didn’t last.

I came back downstairs thinking I was all better, and started to give Scarlett a bottle (in case I really was sick, didn’t want to pass anything through my milk). About 1 minute into the feeding, the pains started bubbling up and I could hear them working in my belly like a pack of loudly wrestling worms.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh. Jeff, quick. Can you take her? TAKE HER, PLEASE!”

He was in the middle of washing his hands. I’m hopping up and down in the kitchen, holding the baby, and trying to reign in the mounting explosion all while he was taking his sweet time washing AND drying his hands. Why I was hopping, I don’t know. That’s not really the brightest idea

I finally tossed over the baby, non-too-gentle, and barely made it to my temporary sanctuary.

The last episode was even more objectionable. Jeff took Scarlett upstairs to put her to bed while I was playing choo-choo with Gideon. The pains hit, I ran, but I couldn’t close the door because I didn’t want to leave Gideon alone downstairs without someone keeping an eye on him…as if I could really keep an eye on anything.

Of course he followed me into the bathroom. And much to my embarrassment and horror, the little man found utter enjoyment in my misery. I was rocking back and forth, almost in tears, trying to shoo him out the door, when the first set of rockets exploded in the toilet. I think he honestly thought I was creating this audio delight to make him laugh… because he did…with such pure amusement.

I couldn’t control the complete mass detonation any longer and with every blast, he giggled with glee and ran back and forth from the door to me. He tried to help me flush, he patted my legs, and he acted as if it were one big party. I was actually too miserable to be properly mortified, but I kept wishing for Jeff to come downstairs. He finally made it back down, pulled Gideon out, made a couple of pewww-weee faces, and closed the door.

I had never been so glad to have some privacy and peace.

All I can say is that it was the most horrible experience ever and my stomach was still sore and painful all day yesterday.