If you have a baby that has or has had colic, could you please go pick them up? Whisper in their ear that Mrs. Spit feels their pain because she has had the adult version of colic since Monday.
Turns out what I thought was food poisoning . . . isn’t.
It’s, well, it’s gas.
Which is embarrassing, and I could live with the eruptions of gas, if that is what would happen. Except, it turns out that I’m in pain precisely because that isn’t happening, and I have to tell you – I would sell my very own soul to be able to burp.
I don’t care about being lady like (obviously, I’m writing about the mysterious plumbing of my intestines in public). I would belch like a college student reciting the alphabet at a keg party – if I only could.
While you are talking to that baby of yours, ask if they would share the gripe water, would you?
I’m pretty miserable over here.