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I’ve started to kick Julie out of the house. There is no way a woman can expect a miracle to be performed on a room full of instruments, computers and a 1974 Wurlitzer Funmaker during nap times and weeknights alone. Two out of the five weeknights I teach guitar lessons out of our house, and it seems every weekend is packed full of weddings, shopping trips and more and more fucking trips to Babies R’ Rippin’ Us Off than I care to admit.

So rather than dealing with the time crunch and having an excuse to not get my son’s new room done, I kicked the wifey out on Sunday so I could get my entire old office evacuated in preparation of paint and a race car bed. I did pretty well. The room is completely empty. But at about 8pm on Sunday through about 7am Monday morning, I was wondering if my request might end up hurting my wife and unborn twins.

Ya’ see, Julie accompanied her mother and sister and her kids, along with my son to St. Charles, Illinois’s Annual Scarecrow Festival. Fun was had by all, including a delicious cup of luke warm hot chocolate. Julie had a cup, her sister had a cup, mmmmm yummy.

As soon as Julie started heading back home to Yorkville, she started feeling queasy. She got home, cooked dinner, ate dinner and then headed up to bed around 7:30pm. Around 8pm I heard “Joel?” So I went upstairs to investigate. 11 hours later Julie was still ralphing her guts out in the bathroom while I laid awake hoping to comfort her if she returned to bed.

She came back to bed a few times, and I fetched her some crushed ice and some saltines, yet every few minutes I was jarred awake by the sounds of her spleen wanting to make contact with our toilet water and a rabid WREEEEETCH was heard throughout the entire neighborhood.

By 6:30am, as I got into the shower delirious and drunk on no sleep, Julie had just barely fallen asleep, and by the time I finished my traditional sinus rinse, she was back in the bathroom puking again. 11 hours, dozens of ralph wiggums, no fun. She wasn’t going to work today.

I headed in to work, knowing I would be called to take her to the doctor at some point, and about an hour into my day I took a call from her where she told me the OB group wanted her to get to the hospital to take in some fluids. I raced home, scooped her in my arms, threw her into the back of my pickup and raced north to Delnor’s Labor & Delivery Center.

We checked in and they immediatley tried to get her an IV running, but of course, that would’ve been what should’ve happened. Instead, my usually veiny wife was poked 4 times before the fourth nurse found a fitting vein. The not-so-successful pokers before that last nurse all called my wife ‘valvular.’ I didn’t know whether to be turned on or offended so I shut my mouth.

Two bags of Lactated Ringer’s in and we received a personal visit from our High Risk OB doctor, Dr. Losure, who came with a fresh set of wheels ready to wisk my wife away to get her cervix checked. Her cervix looks great and we got the chance to see our twins faces again, and a few print outs for the refrigerator too. Dr. Losure wheeled us back and instructed the nurse to give Julie one more bag, since she still hadn’t peed since we had first arrived at the hospital.

A few hours, and horrible soap operas later one of the doctors from the Focus on Women PB group that we se came by and cleared Julie to head home to take it easy. She’s been eating oatmeal in bird nibbles and drinking water in wussy sips ever since.

On the way home she called her sister, who, oddly enough was up all night and had taken off work that day just to pee out of her butt!

What did they ingest in common? A TEPID CUP OF HOT FUCKING CHOCOLATE. Yes, you can get food poisoning from a drink. I told my wife that she was drinking CARNY WATER and that was what made her puke puke all night.

Lesson of the day? If your hot chocolate is cool enough for you to drink it when you first get it, throw it the fuck away.

Love,

Dad.

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