Saturday night at approximately 7:32 pm I was hit, like a speeding freight train, by a stomach bug. Yes, it was so sudden and so intense that I actually remember the very moment it humbled me into a hunched over, whiney, gurgling mess of a woman. I looked at the clock and said,

“Meh. And Uck. I’m going to bed.”

So there I slept peacefully, with a plastic grocery bag clenched in my fist, until 11 p.m., when I could no longer ignore the rumbling and bitching of a very pissed off, angry set of bowels. I prefer the illnesses that make you rest. This sickness had a personality all its own. It had every intention of keeping me very aware of my stomach all. night. long. And, to be honest with you, I don’t really give a shit about bonding with my belly at 1 a.m. on a Sunday morning. Ya know?

I spent the wee morning hours gently coaxing water down my throat. With each sip I meditated and prayed that this one little sip would stay down.

“I must drink. I will keep it down. I. will. do. it. for. Noah. (because breastmilk made of dust is not very tasty or nutritional). For Noah. I can do it.”

The sickness literally lasted 24 hours– hence it is called a 24-hour bug. Not 12 hours. Not 23 hours. Twenty-four whole, complete, and total fucking hours. Hmph.

Ok, so I am recovered now and I was thinking this morning, after weighing in 5 pounds lighter, that this is how those skinny bitches like Paris and Nicole keep their hott, sexy bones poking out (Meh! Uck!). They throw up. I was looking at my naked body in the mirror this morning (no bones poke out, let me tell ya) and I was all (imagine a valley girl accent),

“I totally, like, weigh 5 pounds less than I did yesterday! Yeah… Like, Totally! I guess I won’t need that seaweed-mocha-enema at the resort in the Bahamas after all!”

Kidding aside (not that enemas are funny), Paris Hilton and all of her skinny, debutante, socialite friends are stupid bitches because there is nothing funny about spending 24 hours throwing up just to be skinny. Someone hand that girl some meat. Throw her some fried chicken! Shit, throw me some fried chicken, I’m the one who lost 5 pounds!

Geesh.

And being that Jeremy and I share everything, and because he is my best friend, and since I love him sooooooo very much…

I introduced him to the 24 hour bug. I’m sorry, Baby!

We currently have an adjustable rate mortgage. Gah!

No big deal, you say? Well, in April of next year our payments start rising. REALLY rising. This is painful but under control as long as we are both bringing in our normal income. If Jeremy has a few snow days off of work, OUCH! If he has a few days lapse before his next job starts, OUCH! My income is always the same regardless of sick or vacation days, so no problems there. Anyhow, I want to get out of the adjustable rate and into a fixed rate because!!! If we can lock down our payments!!! I can quit my job and be a stay at home mommy!!! So, I am trying to refinance. But this isn’t so easy for folks with so-so credit. So if it works out, it was meant for me to be a stay at home mommy. If not, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing. No big deal either way… But do cross your fingers for the latter option, huh?

I can see it. Playing, cuddling, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walks, and surrounding myself with babies with tangly, unbrushed hair and milk moustaches. I will play in the dirt and make mud pies and grow gardens. I will kiss owies, finger paint , and run in the sprinkler. I will have friends with hippie babies like mine and we will exchange oatmeal cookie recipes, and meet at the pool, and make dandelion necklaces for our babes. Austin, Noah, Bella, and Momma.

No more 401K. No more retirement plans. No more cable television. No more cute stilettos. But we shall have love, and laughter, and a fixed mortgage rate. What else could a gal want? The 401k plan isn’t nearly as awesome as watching my kids grow up and participating in every moment of that!

Saying a prayer…

Shoes. We love the pink kind. Zebra ones. Purple ones. The striped kind, and even the green type with black polka dots. Yes please. We’ll take shoes.