I’m ready for the summer.
I need it. Because I’m cozy right now, my home is quiet with a sleeping pug next to me and a sleeping Hudson in his bed, but in 30 minutes, I have to get up, leave this indent on the couch that my ass worked very hard at, wake up Hudson (groan), and pick Berlyn up from preschool.
I’m ready for that to be done.
She’s ready too.
She’s ready to be a kindergartner, but nope. She has to be in preschool for another week and a half, which means my mind will be mentally checked out and daydreaming of beaches and green otter pops while I’m driving to pick her up every day. Which also means that I might just drive past her school and straight to the ocean, and I’m sorry, but you’re going to need to call my mom and have her pick up Berlyn, and they can meet Hudson and me here. Thanks, here’s a grape otter pop. It’s a good one, I promise, and it tastes nothing like expired children’s medication.
Because I need more days at the beach.
Especially after a night like last night. Oh my gosh, you guys, I ALMOST DIED! Seriously. I woke up wheezing and panting for breath. I’ve struggled with asthma my entire life, and I’d like to give my mom a round of applause for smoking while pregnant. I, on the other hand, gasp and cough if someone even smokes within 25 feet from me, but not my moms, she lives right there on the edge. I can picture her 31 years ago, with a cold Pepsi and a hankering for nicotine, smacking her smokes against her palm and lighting up while sporting a gigantic pregnant belly. Classy lady. Naturally, I had Pneumonia a few times before I turned three, AND also suffered from 237 asthma attacks. I remember once having to spend a Christmas in a clear plastic tent in the hospital just like that final scene in E.T. I think it was when Drew Barrymore handed E.T. a handful of Reese’s Pieces, and at that moment, I knew exactly how E.T. felt, coincidentally, it was also the moment that I began my love affair with any and all peanut butter candies. Except for the candy where the peanut butter is too chalky. Plaah.
All that to say, I’ve handled my quirky lungs my entire life, and for the past 5 years or so they’ve been alright. So I’ve thrown away all my inhalers, and cut the safety net out from under me.
So you can imagine my horror when I woke up at 1:00 AM last night gasping for breath. I went straight for the bathroom medicine cabinet, and feverishly searched for something to clear my air ways. I was sure there was an old inhaler somewhere in there, behind the tampons and neti pot, but no. Nothing.
I guess all my panting and hacking and shoving things around in the bathroom cabinet woke my husband up, which is weird because that man can sleep through anything. Seriously.
So anyways, he woke up and was all, WTF woman? Except he didn’t say that at all, because he doesn’t talk like he’s on the cast of Jersey Shore.
But you get the picture.
And I replied, “I (wheeze) can’t (wheeze) breathe (wheeze).” Which may have been a slight over-reach, because I could breathe, it just hurt a lot, it felt like that fat German kid that eats all the chocolate in Willy Wonka was sitting on my chest, and he wasn’t even sharing his chocolate bar with me. And if hurts to breathe this much, I’d at least like a square of chocolate to take my mind off the fact that I may or may not be dying, gosh, you’re so selfish Augustus Gloop. And wipe your mouth, you look like a damn idiot.
Not having chocolate makes me surly.
Also what makes me surly: not being able to breathe properly.
So Pat woke up, and I was like, here’s the deal, I’m not going to the emergency room because I don’t want to put on a bra and the people in the waiting room always make me sad. Plus I’d have to go alone, and I hate waiting alone, I’d get bored.
This list all made a lot of sense to Pat and me at 1:30 in the morning, so instead my husband did the most romantic thing he’s ever done-
He put on pants,
….and went to CVS in the middle of the night to search the isles for something to help me.
I didn’t even ask him, he just did it.
I don’t think I would have done that, I’d just roll back into my cozy spot in the bed and tell him to figure it out.
He came back from the 24 hour drug store with this steam vaporizer thing you stick your face in, and I think it burnt all my nose hairs off, which is fine, because nose hairs are so not cute. So you stick your face in it and all this hot steamy steam goes up your nose and you breathe in this minty stuff for like 15 minutes.
And it worked.
Thank you Jesus.
And I didn’t have to go to the E.R.
Seriously, it’s depressing. Everyone there has the sad eyes, and they have blood stains on their shirt, and I don’t want to sit next to someone with SARS. Gross.
So even though last night, I didn’t get my normal 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep, I did learn a few things:
1) My husband is good to have around when I need medical assistance.
2) I should not all of a sudden take up smoking
3) Wearing a bra blows
4) And maybe I should get an inhaler, just in case because: