Stomach Virus from H*ll

Beren began barfing shortly after I put him to bed. Jared began shortly thereafter. He has displaced my mother as the maker of world's most disgusting vocalizations while vomiting. I looked at the clock at 3:15AM and again at 5:00AM.

Homeopathic Arsenicum albidum has helped, but not completely. It's nearly 24 hours later and the vomit keeps coming. I have not changed from my last outfit that Beren puked on (why bother?), and our house reeks of sour guts.

I have mostly abandoned my husband who now honks his mucus-filled nose. "The best thing you can do is help to take care of yourself today," I told him this morning.

Not going to win Mrs. America contests here. Most contestants did not spend the previous night:
1. Sleeping in small armchairs trash-picked from Lover's Lane (a proper Lane, not a rendezvous) in Princeton
2. While cradling and nursing a vomiting toddler
3. Who became tearful upon hearing his father say, BBBBBLLLLEEEEAGGGGGGGG.

And so, why don't women make war some ask? Spend the night as above, and the question is easily answered. With regular disruptions of all magnitudes, women do not have the time. We are doing laundry, chopping vegetables, rubbing upset bellies, and sweeping all with a child on our hip, whether real, imagined, internal, once, future, or past.

And so, when I hear about global gender inequality in the workplace, I wonder do those women really need to leave the home to make a paycheck, just so they can come home exhausted to their unpaid jobs as mother and wife? Well, if women are forced to leave their homes for a higher standard of living, I suppose so. Although 'just scraping by' is ofter the 'higher' standard.

I wonder if you see where I am going? I hope you can because my sick husband can't keep my sick son's attention, so I am punching out of my unpaid job as writer and am going back to my job of mother.