First off, everything's fine.

Just so no one worries. On Friday, I came down with a nasty stomach flu that had me throwing up every 45 minutes. I finally gave in and went to the hospital at 630pm because everytime I threw up the absolutely nothing in my stomach, I would then get this really sharp stabby pain across the top of my stomach.

So they hooked me up to the monitors and discovered that the sharp stabby pain was in fact labor. Which is in fact a bad thing at 35 weeks. Because I was so dehydrated, I went into labor. Who knew? And at 35 weeks, a delivery would mean flying the baby back to Oahu. That's no good.

So they hooked me up to an IV. They gave me some pills which I threw up. Ohmigosh, how I hate throwing up. Especially since I was nine months long morning sickness pregnant with Owen and now when I throw up it's, "holy crap my stomach is coming out of my throat and I am choking to death, pounding on the floor, because I can't BREATHE!!!!" So they gave me some shots instead. One to stop throwing up and three to stop the labor which I was to frickin' exhausted to fight off anymore. So then I became Stoner Sara because those non-puking drugs always make you high as a kite, but then the non-labor drugs made me like a speed freak junkie with the shakes. And of course the non-labor drugs pump up your heart rate which pumps up the baby's heart rate which means...a whole night of observation in a crampy non comfortable, not made for eight months pregnant woman's back, totally too short bed. They finally let us go at 7 the next morning.

So I am trying to ignore that my house is in shambles, there is a monumentous pile of laundry stacking up, we cannot eat because all the dishes are dirty, and I must still drive Owen to school. Abra sadly cannot go because...

Now Abra is sick.


Help! Help!

I am 30.

When did this happen? Was I sleeping? How did I get to be 30?

I don't feel old (which is good) and I am not really upset (which is better), but I am still curious that time seems to have taken a giant leap from 22 to 30. Okay, maybe frightened is a better word than curious. Because if it leaps like this for the next eight years, holy crap, I will almost be forty!

Ah well. At least I still look 17. Right? Right? Just smile and nod, damnit.