So, yeah. The vomiting? It has begun.

Jesse started puking at midnight last night, and proceeded to retch every hour on the hour afterward.

I am not a heartless person. I feel bad for people when they are sick. I cringe and shake my head as they vomit in an effort to portray to them my feelings of Bummer dude, wish there was something I could do for you. Last night was no exception. I cringed for him at every retch, but am I evil for thinking Oh my God if he wakes up the children I’m going to kill him!

You see, Jesse is no ordinary puker. He possesses one of the loudest retches this side of the Mississippi in the WORLD. Every time he yelled his vomit into the toilet bowl I found myself asking, “Is all that noise really necessary?”

There must be some way to control the volume of retching, no? Don’t thousands of unhappy teenage girls and professional horse jockeys vomit in relative silence after every meal? Ok, maybe not the jockeys – they’re very outspoken about the fact that they purposefully starve themselves in order to stay light enough to race atop the backs of giant thoroughbreds at break neck speeds. They even have special vomit recepticals in their bathrooms. But the girls – those tragic young ladies suffering with bulimia – surely they have mastered the art of the silent retch.

Now, before everyone jumps on me about being insensitive to bulimics let me just say that I know bulimia is a very serious disease and I in no way mean to make light of it. (No pun intended.) I am simply trying to draw attention to the fact that retching need not be loud enough to break the sound barrier in order to be effective.

I truly hope Jesse is able to keep liquids down soon. If he is still bellowing retching at noon I will have no choice but to take him in to get I.V. fluids. He may be a loud vomiter, and leave his shoes and briefcase right in the middle of the hallway EVERYDAY for me to trip on, but he is also my husband, and I love him, and it would really suck if he were to decide to become a statistic of swine flu.

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