So I got home. And I enjoyed my Wawa tenders, thankyouverymuch. Now, mind you, I haven't taken my Prilosec in days. (Not 20 mg, 40 mg. I seriously need this stuff to live.) (Okay, that *may* be a slight exaggeration.) At any rate, random ramblings aside, I decided to down this deliciously wonderful fruit smoothie in about three gulps, as per usual. (No, I didn't lick the cap cuz why would I do that?) I was okay for a split 23 seconds.
Except then my chest was on fire. And my throat. And the back of my mouth. And I kept getting that don't-burp-cuz-you'll-puke feeling. (Not a pleasant feeling, no.)
But I'm smart! I'm not stupid! I have some old Mylanta sitting around here somewhere, right?!
Right. *Exactly* right.
*Old* Mylanta.
You ever have one of those moments when you know something bad is about to happen, but you just can't stop it cuz it's too late? Yeah, it was one of *those* moments. A strong, plastic smell reached my nose two seconds before the bottle reached my mouth. (Was I drinking out of the bottle? Eww no cuz why would I do that.) And then the sludge hit my lip, and seconds later, my tongue. I almost dropped the bottle in the floor.
I didn't. I did, however, let out a sad, pitiful cry that was a cross between that of a dying cat and a gutted fish. (Do fish make noises? Really?) I may or may not have dribbled what little nasty sludge had managed to weasel its way into my mouth... onto the floor. (Reflex!) And then I was spitting and spewing and whining into the kitchen sink about how I had been abused by a cruel and hateful bottle of Mylanta, while dumping said offensive bottle down the drain. It was then that I realized I hadn't shaken the bottle well enough, and all the thick goo was settled at the bottom of the bottle. This, of course, did not stop me from pursuing my mission. The now empty bottle of Mylanta sits in recycle.
I have no other antacids sitting around. Because I normally take my medicine like a good girl and therefore have no NEED for antacids. I ended up drinking (yes, drinking - I was too lazy to find a spoon, and don't judge me bcuz we all have those moments) applesauce. It soothed the savage beast, but only barely. The heartburn raged on.
And then my lovable, adorable, cute and sweet little tot awoke. And started doing the loving, sweet "Mama" thing which, as I've said before, melts me like a hot knife through butter. So I picked him up and took him to my room. (Bcuz what else would one do in this situation?)
He snuggled. For three seconds. It was totally adorable, too, bcuz he wrapped one chubby little arm around my neck and pulled me to him, warm and close.
Then he got bored. And then he thought it would be funny to roll over and kick Mommy in the face. And then laugh when Mommy complained.
And then - typical male! - he was out, sliding his way off the mattress onto the floor. "Deuces, Ma," said he. "Got bigger and better things to explore." (Or it may have been more along the lines of, "Bah bah boo bleh bah!")
Heartburn and heartbreak, all in one night. Although it's better to have loved and lost than... blah, blah, blah, who am I kidding? I love that kid, even though he drops me like a hot potato on a momentary whim.
What's a poor mommy to do?
XOXO,
Alex.Is
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