I was sitting here yesterday, minding my own business, when I was suddenly felled by an axe.
Within about five minutes I went from thinking that I might be getting a headache to stumbling blindly towards the bathroom, about to throw up because my right eyeball was exploding. AWFUL. The light in the bedroom was excruciating, so I hunkered down in our closet for about two seconds until Patrick woke up from his nap - screaming. Steve was at a doctor's appointment (we are all about moles this month) and the cats are useless in a crisis so I crawled upstairs and brought Patrick into bed with me. He decided he didn't want to play "Let's Pretend We Are Lifeless Bodies" and howled as I tried to read Richard Scarry's "Mon Grand Livre des Mots" with a washcloth clutched over my eye. I realized that I was going to throw up again, so I hauled Patrick into the bathroom and proceeded to do so. With one hand holding back my hair and the other hand preventing Patrick from bodily investigating the contents of the toilet bowl, I had no way to stop him from slamming the toilet seat cover onto my head. Repeatedly. I started to cry. He started to cry. I became convinced that I had actually died during the eyeball explosion and this was going to be eternity for me.
Which is when Steve came home and I went to bed for 20 hours. I love Steve.
MIGRAINE? But... I don't get migraines. I get hangovers and canker sores and blisters where my wide feet rub new shoes. Do you really think it was a migraine yesterday? Aren't they chronic?