This all started, as most sagas do, at the eye doctor a few weeks ago. I went to a new doctor who drastically changed my prescription. I've been using up my store of old contacts before ordering new ones with the new prescription, but I went ahead and ordered some glasses online since my old ones were already a prescription behind my outdated contacts.
My new glasses showed up Wednesday evening. Before bed, I ripped my contacts out and pulled out my new glasses, excited to try them on. The second they hit my face, the entire room started spinning and I felt like I was looking through a fishbowl. James said I just need to adjust to the new prescription, but the dizziness and nausea came so fast and furious I thought I was either going to die or deliver a baby in 9 months. I took them off, having only worn them for roughly 1 minute, and was uncomfortably queasy the rest of the night. I've always been easily susceptible to nausea and dizziness, but ever since going through pregnancy and Hyperemesis Gravidarum, the smallest things will send me into a spiral of motion sickness. I figured this was partially from epic sleep deprivation, and I would sleep off the ickiness and feel normal in the morning.
After a fitful night's sleep due to the neighbors deciding to hang pictures up in the middle of the night, morning came, and so did the nausea. It wasn't bad, but it was just enough to make me feel squirmy and gross. I fumbled my way downstairs to find James grunting and fussing under the kitchen sink. It seems our drippy faucet had turned into a full blown plumbing malfunction overnight, and a pipe had leaked and flooded the cabinet. We immediately reported the problem to maintenance, and I figured they would be by that morning since they're usually very prompt. I dragged Gracie to Trader Joe's, my stomach finally feeling slightly better, and figured it would be fixed by the time we got home.
As I was lugging the bags of groceries through the parking lot, around the building, and up two flights of stairs, an aggressive wave of nausea hit me out of the blue, and I had to stop and kneel down on the ground to get my bearings. We got inside to find that the sink still hadn't been fixed. I put the food away, fed Gracie lunch, and hauled her upstairs for nap time. I was getting her changed when a violent wave of dizziness hit and made me stumble over. It felt like I had put the vertigo glasses back on. I waited for it to pass, but it didn't, and the nausea started to hit as well. I threw Gracie in the crib and literally crawled to the bathroom looking for my vertigo medicine. I couldn't find it anywhere, and I fell into a blind panic since James was working late, I had no medicine, and I couldn't drive in that state. After some teary and dramatic texts to James, he led me to the last pill on top of the fridge. I downed it as fast as I could, and once it kicked in and I ate some lunch, I started to feel almost human again.
An hour passed, and Gracie finally talked herself to sleep. I was about to fall asleep on the couch and figured that maintenance wouldn't come until tomorrow, so I might as well get comfortable. I threw on Christmas pajama pants and a sweatshirt stained from last night's enchiladas, and I walked downstairs. I had just sat down on the couch with some coffee and a book when I heard a pounding on the door.
The maintenance man. Of course.
These men have the worst timing imaginable. They have only ever come while I've been in the middle of nursing a tiny Gracie or getting out of the shower, so I was anything but surprised when they came just as Gracie fell asleep and I was looking and feeling completely unfit for human interaction. The man banged around under the kitchen sink for over an hour and woke Gracie up a few times. She went back to sleep by nothing less than the grace of God, and at least we got a new faucet. He left, and I managed to get a few more chapters in before Gracie woke up for good. Once she did, I went upstairs to find her scribbling on her crib sheet with a blue crayon. In my haste to get her down for her nap before throwing up, I failed to notice that she had been hoarding a bag of crayons in her paw the whole time.
I curled up in a ball on the floor while Gracie played with her dollhouse. I wasn't dizzy, but the nausea hit me again, and I felt awful. And then I smelled it, wafting through the giant vent under the door housing the furnace. Marijuana.
We got a letter on our door a few days ago from the management, claiming someone in our building was smoking pot and they were determined to figure out where it was coming from. My knee-jerk reaction was to be terrified they would somehow blame me and I would get arrested, even though I've never gone near pot in my life. We smell cigarettes frequently, and I know someone has been smoking those inside due to how strong the smell is in the laundry room, but I wasn't sure if I had smelled pot. I mean, it's been awhile since I've been to a music festival. I got a whiff of what I thought was pot the other night, but today it was unmistakeable. It was so overwhelming I think I wound up on an episode of That 70s Show. After awhile, my eyes and throat felt like they were on fire and I was having a hard time breathing. I was having a total allergic reaction, and I started panicking about the fact that my daughter was breathing this in. I notified the office, and they responded with something about sending a patrol officer out in the evening to walk around the building.
I didn't want to wait that long. After watching a particularly horrifying episode of Sherlock and reading a book with very brave characters, I summoned my courage and crept outside in my pajamas. I tiptoed down the sidewalk in my striped socks, sniffing and looking for anything suspicious. I couldn't smell anything, confirming my theory that someone's smoking inside, but I suddenly saw one of my neighbors walk out onto his first floor balcony holding something between his thumb and index finger that looked suspiciously like a joint. I tried to hide behind a flight of stairs, but when I went to take another look, I heard a high-pitched voice squeaking "Mama? Mama? Oh wow, it's cold!" My child had weaseled the front door open and was toddling toward the 2 flights of stairs leading up to our front door, leaving me no choice but to turn around and go grab her. And just as I was about to solve the crime of the century!
I got her to bed and went downstairs to clean up the hurricane of toys she had left behind, but I could hardly stand the overpowering smell that was violently wafting through the air again. I put my shoes on and prowled around again, but I couldn't smell anything outside. Nothing! I had thought about calling the police, but what good would it do if I couldn't provide an address and you can't smell anything outside? Not to mention, the office had ignored my email providing them all the details and information I had acquired from my sleuthing. But no matter, I'll be on the case again tomorrow. And by that I mean I'm going to send James in to talk to the landlords.
Sherlock Michelle Holmes, at your service.
In the meantime, the windows are cracked to air out the living room even though it's freezing again, and my nausea is momentarily much better, though I'll be restocking my vertigo medicine before trying those glasses on again.
And at least now I know why I've been so hungry at night lately.