We learned this week, the hard way, that sleep is in fact better than pizza. It had been a month sans dairy, but Saturday rolled around and I hadn't done a load of laundry in four days, no cleaning, no diaper washing, no fresh fruit, nothing from the freezer thawed. The kids were stinky because they hadn't been bathed, and I was doing the little I could do to keep things functioning without trying to get overwhelmed with all the time I had to make up for.
So...Mark ordered pizza. The thought that I shouldn't be eating pizza didn't really register, such was my state of mind at the time. I was just happy that everyone was fed and that there weren't any dishes to add to the sink.
The next day...
Let's just say that if dairy were a bee sting and that Paul was allergic to bee stings, pizza sent him into anaphalectic shock. I have seen every hour of the clock for the past two nights, up at least once an hour trying to console a baby with terrible gas pains that nothing will relieve, not to mention an unbecoming facial rash which we've attributed to the dairy.
I feel terrible for putting Paul through the gut-wrenching experience yet again, and in general feel a little down that there are so many foods that I really need to avoid for both Paul's sake and my sanity.
But, as Mark so brilliantly put as I trudged down the stairs this morning after a fitful night, "Sleep is better than pizza."
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