Gertrude decided last night that it was high time she showed everyone the contents of her stomach. Repeatedly. And that is why I have this knot on my head. Because at 2:42 a.m. when one is sleeping on sofa cushions on the floor beside a sick child, and that child suddenly bolts upright screaming, "Mama, PUKE!!!"… well, it is very easy for your feet to become entangled in your blanket while lunging for the trash can. And you can very easily wind up cracking your head on the bed post of child's bed.
As such, I'm too exhausted to pick up toys strewn about my living room or to fill the dishwasher with virus-contaminated water cups and plates holding crumpled, half-eaten pieces of dry toast.
I am not, however, too exhausted to finish eating the entire fruit pizza we had stashed in the freezer. Frozen fruit pizza is even better than fresh fruit pizza. And those frozen strawberries (embedded in frozen cream cheese frosting, atop a frozen sugar cookie crust) have assured me they contain enough super-charged vitamin C to keep a thousand viruses at bay.
So I obviously have nothing to worry about.
Except those really cute size 7 jeans I just bought on clearance. That was stupid, what with fruit pizza in the freezer and all.