Last night Heather went to the bathroom coughing and I nearly dropped my toothbrush.
She did look like she was throwing up, and when I checked on her and she shut the door, I imagined she was going to secretly test on her own, so the little electric toothbrush was buzzing along and I thought I was mere minutes from learning I was a parent.
No, she said, she was coughing, but thought she had to throw up for a second, so she went to the bathroom.
But guess what did happen? Her overall pitiful behavior continued-- lying on the couch, lower lip protruding, asking why I would offer her water instead of Coke Zero ("You act like I'm already pregnant. Why would you think I'd want water?")-- but, when I completed her dinner order by picking up Popeye's, she said it just wasn't good and she didn't want it. My chicken was fine. She scanned the desserts I selected from the convenience store ("Zero? What the hell is that?"), frowning mightily at the baseball-themed cupcakes, then made it through only half a cupcake before rejecting it.
Fine, yes, the cupcakes were on the dry side, and, of course, nothing is as delicious as the classic orange Hostess, but, seriously, she rejected everything. Then, after volunteering to go to bed before 11, she went to the bathroom, leaned over the toilet, and coughed.
Listen, if I ran around finding food and rubbing her feet and she isn't pregnant, I'm gonna be pissed.