Trust me, they’re all related to one another.
I couldn’t sleep, my ears were itching, my throat was raw and dry, and I couldn’t get comfortable. Goddamn kid germs had taken hold. It was 1:04 a.m., I had the bed to myself so I could ostensibly “rest” but still no sleep. Two benadryl, L-Tryptophan, melatonin, Tylenol and no sleep. My head was a bag of wet cement yet all I could do was keep stirring.
So what’s a woman to do but surf the Internet and so I did. Found out that Paula Poundstone is a crazy cat lady, found out Adele is even more amazing stripped down to her vocals, and that some cops have breast milk and a heart. Still no sleep.
I agree with Paula Poundstone though, when cats decide to vomit it’s a “several surfaces” scenario. It’s like chaperoning someone the first time they’re drunk or dealing with a toddler. You might as well hold onto that bucket for them to barf in and just put your precious posessions in front of them to save them the search and you the surprise. I feel like I’m the statuette holder at an awards ceremony waiting for the music to play them out when my child is vomiting.
But it also made me realize how complete my role reversal is in life. I’m the vomit cleaner and not the vomiter. Here I am laying in bed, feeling miserable, and there’s no one to take care of me even if I wanted them to. Our cat won’t even sleep on me because I won’t stop moving.
I could call a friend but whom? Who would be awake at 1:24 a.m. who would be A.) not upset with me for calling or anxious over being called at this hour, B.) irate that I was (and rightfully so), or C.) in a similar boat of parenting/illness/cat vomit monitoring?
My vow of reconnecting with friends this year has not gone well or as smoothly as I hoped. Turns out, people don’t like you choosing your kids over them. They know it has to happen in general seeing that they came from your body and you love them above all else but, yeah… can we pretend that you still want to hear about (insert new hobby circa 1880’s, mundane moment captured on Twitter involving coffee or socks, efc.)?
I get it though, I remember being jealous, yet stupifiied, by the seemingly endless cataloging of littles on social media before I was a parent. (Side note, The Littles cartoon was one of my childhood favorites.) I would ask myself, aloud at times, “What the fuck – who cares?!” Yet, now I do, I get it and I have drunk the Kool-Aid.
My social media stream is a family photo album in progress and I fully am aware, unapologetic, and in awe of our current technology that allows me to do so. So if someone wants to do the same about cats, dogs, knitting, vomit, Adele… so be it! Friendship to me is hitting “like” because you’re validating them and genuinely like them. So you “♡” on their Instagram post, retweet, follow their Pin board but I’m experiencing now that this isn’t enough. People want to be friends with a sentient being not a virtual “hot or not” rating.
All of social media starts to feel like the modern equivalent of answering an illicit “love quiz” note passed around in class, fourth grade shenanigans to predict your future, and it doesn’t change. We think it will but it doesn’t. It hurts to be left out, forgotten, holding the bucket for the vomit, only noticed when needed but at least I have the bed to myself…. wait, I hear someone breathing on me.