Still Alive and Kicking

I know I've pretty much been silent since we returned from India. That last plane ride was a killer and, though this was my fifth time to India, I have never experienced jet lag quite like this. I'm still waking up around 4:30 in the morning, but it's a lot better than waking up at two.

I was telling a friend that I haven't quite confessed to my husband that I'm feeling a bit better. So far, I'm still able to pull the jet lag card around supper time, and it's gotten me out of quite a few responsibilities. I haven't had to wash up or put the kids to bed in a week. But Sim did look at me with a raised eyebrow yesterday and asked, "Shouldn't you be over this jet lag by now?" so I think my days are numbered...

Unfortunately, my jet lag has been replaced by a little friend I picked up along the way. His official name is intestinal parasite/virus/what-the-heck-is-going-on-down-there, but most people know him as Mr Delhi Belly.

Yeah, I'm prety sure it's a male because a female parasite would never do this to another woman.

So I know someone somewhere out there is pointing a finger straight at my gut and saying, " That's what you get for eating street food, you fool!" But I beg to differ.

I was reading online (who needs a doctor when you have google?) that if you get "the trots", as Sim lovingly refers to it, within 24-48 hours after you return home, then it's probably due to something you ate on your last day. And I would bet my last roll of toilet paper that it's from the potato pav (pronounced "pow") that I ate in the airport.

You see, I ate potato pav off the street in Mumbai, but didn't get sick. And I ate it off the street in Pune and didn't get sick. But, by golly, I'm certain the airport potato pav did a number on me.

I'm from the school that street food could actually be better than restaurant food - especially if you see it being cooked right in front of you and it's piping hot. You just need to be careful of eating it off the plate or drinking your sugarcane juice out of their cup because you don't know what they're cleaned in. And it's really not hard to stick a tin cup in your backpack or  tell the vendor that you want the food in a packet ( take away). So I think it's pretty safe.

Although I will admit that Sandwich has much more street cred (haha) than me and she wisely suggested that I not eat the street Rasgulla that I bought. It's a cold dessert and we don't know how long it was sitting there. Rule of thumb...made in front of you, fried, and hot...try it. Sitting there for who knows how long and cold...just keep on walking by.

She most definitely saved my butt. Literally.

But back to the airport potato pav...It was late evening and for all I know that sucker could've been sitting there growing bacteria for three days. And I know, I just know, it's the culprit.

But don't for one minute think this experience has weaned me off my newest obsession. Oh no. Me and my tapeworm are thoroughly going to enjoy some potato pav in New Delhi. Just not at the airport.

So. I'm pretty sure you're all wondering why I'm rambling on about such drivel when I haven't even blogged about meeting Naveen yet. Well, it's because I'm a immature brat who, when faced with emotional situations, likes to bury her head in the sand. But I can't do that for the next two months. And I am feeling a lot better now and will blog about meeting Naveen. I promise! I can think about him without crying now (yay!) and I've decided that it's muy importante to get Noah's diet back on track, so that'll occupy me for most of the months. So things are going to be okay. And before, you know it, the two months will have passed and I'll be on my way to India to bring my little boy home.

I will survive. I will survive. Hey Hey.