I laughed so hard I think I got a hernia
Let me state for the record that I think my husband is a very handsome man.
And I feel the need to say this right here because I’m about to post a picture of him that does not, shall we say, showcase one of the many reasons that it has been very, very easy for me to make two babies with him.
This picture was taken a few months ago when Tim came downstairs from putting M (our 3-year-old) to bed and asked me if I noticed anything different about his lip.
I was probably nursing A (just a few months old at the time) and finishing up my dinner and reading a book–the sort of multi-tasking that is required of parents of small children–and so I hadn’t yet gotten a good look at Tim’s face before he asked me to examine his lip. In fact, I’m guessing I hadn’t even looked at his face at all because if I had, I would certainly have noticed that something was…different.
Oh my god, the insensitive laughter and hilarity that ensued.
Of course, we were sufficiently worried about his “condition.” And yes, my shallower side was also worried that we would never even get to practice making any more babies unless Tim wore a bag over his head. (For what it’s worth, I don’t think that his hot dog lip detracted all that much from his handsomeness. I just don’t think that I could have stopped my side-cramping laughter enough in order to have sex with him.)
Responding, I presume, to both sets of worries (the humane and the shallow ones), Tim did go directly to the ER, where the physician marvelled at how he had “never seen anything like this before.” So he loaded Tim up with some antibiotics and Benadryl, recommended that he also hold an ice pack over his lip, and then hoped that the frankfurter on Tim’s mouth would either turn out to be an infection, an allergic reaction, or some sort of injury or swelling.
And thankfully, one of those remedies worked because the hot dog shrunk down to a more respectable cocktail-wiener size within days.
Now, for those of you who think that Tim has one hell of a cold-hearted partner who continually laughs at his pain and indignities and never has any hilarious physical malfunctions of her own, think again. Because I got my comeuppance just last week when I was out to dinner with my mom and one of my sisters.
We were actually in the midst of our own bout of side-splitting laughter. What’s even better is that our laughter was the result of our reminiscing about Tim’s now infamous hot dog lip. (Really, once you’ve seen the picture, it becomes seared into your memory and is very easily culled up if you ever need a good chuckle.)
And I was laughing so hard that God must have looked down upon me and said, “Kristen enough is enough! You’ve giggled over Tim’s misfortunes ONE TOO MANY TIMES NOW!”
And then POOF I was in breathtaking pain and a little alien head was popping out of my side. (Just like in Spaceballs, I tell you.)
“Oh my god, guys, this HURTS!” I moaned to my mom and sisters. “Mooooommmmm, you’ve gotta feel this.“
I directed my mother’s hand to the little mass that was poking out of my belly, and all of her efforts to shape her face into an expression of concern couldn’t hide the disgust and shock that was looming underneath.
And just as I was getting ready to shout, “A LITTLE GREEN SLIMY THING IS ABOUT TO DANCE THE CAN-CAN ACROSS THIS TABLE, SO YOU BETTER WATCH OUT, BITCHES!” I pushed that sucker back in and s/he hasn’t been seen since.
My medically-trained parents have told me that I probably have a ventral hernia, one that shouldn’t need any specific treatment…at least for now. But I’ve been worried enough about its return that I have ceased thinking about and looking at pictures of Tim’s hot dog lip…at least for too long.