I know that I have mentioned before that I hate February. The illusion that this is the shortest month, is laughable at best because this is the one month of the year that seems to go on FOREVER.
Nothing good happens in February.
On Valentine's Day (which I do not celebrate, by the way), the school called to let me know that the Supergirl was sick. Also? She couldn't go back to school the next day because she had to be vomit-free for 24 hours and seeing how she got sick at a quarter to four...well, you do the math.
I had hoped that she could make it through the car ride home without incident. My hopes were dashed. We pulled into a gas station, made a rush through the door to get to the bathroom when we were cut off by a mom of 3 young children who took her entire brood into the one girl's bathroom. I tried to coerce the now panicked Supergirl into the men's room, but she refused.
And then she erupted, projectile vomiting all over the floor of the Circle K.
I grabbed her and shoved her into the men's room where she proceeded to attempt to lecture me on the dangers and rudeness of pushing as I gathered armfuls of paper towels to clean the floor.
It was as I was cleaning the floor of the gas station on my hands and knees that I began to notice that a crowd had begun to form around me. And the cheery mother who had cut me off on the way to the bathroom, began to berate my poor parenting skills that my child would vomit on the floor instead of in the men's bathroom. Yelling at me. Yelling at me because my child was sick. (Dear God, lady, you must be one fucking spectacular parent that your children have never had an accident in a public place.)
Teens took pictures - and video!- with their phones. My child cried for me from behind the door of the men's bathroom and I just kept cleaning the floor. Head down, trying not to cry, trying not to vomit, trying not to become enraged as I saw the Hubs (I wonder if I should still call him that) across the room enjoying social hour with a former pastor.
I finished the job. I threw away the paper towels. I grabbed my sobbing child and I left it all behind.
And when we got home and took showers, I hoped it would all be over.
I was wrong about that, too. And as I watched the Hubs sleeping dutifully on the couch through hours 3-7 of the eruption of Mount Supergirl as though nothing were wrong, as I shampooed vomit out of my hair for the second time that night and washed a 3rd load of clothes, as I finally felt safe enough to lie down and attempt to sleep? It came to me.
There is nothing good about February.
Oh, and I cannot be married anymore.
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