I vomited eleven times Monday night. Aggressively. It was one of those bugs where I couldn’t make it to the bathroom and just being honest folks, it was coming out both ends. And the only thought that gave me any comfort at the time was: “Hey, I might loose some baby weight from this.” I am not proud of this thought! I know how bad this type of thinking is. But it was the only thing that gave me comfort as I lay there in my own bodily fluids, praying the ‘moment-before-the vomit,’ aka, the WORST physical sensation ever, wouldn’t return; and when it did, thoughts of weight-loss comforted me when nothing else could. I am a sick woman. In more ways than one.