Pink bucket


I feel like I need to write an ode to this pink bucket. But I cant remember what an ode is exactly. 😂 . . . So I will write a love letter instead.

Dear Pink Bucket,

I cant remember exactly when you came into my life. Was it with our last baby? Or when my gallbladder was removed? You were free. You were a gift from the hospital somewhere at some point. I’m sure we shared our first moments together by you holding my personal items. But we have grown so much closer than that. All I know is that I love you. I hate you mostly, but I also love you. If I didn’t have you, I’d have to vomit into the toilet, which would mean I’d also pee my pants while I did that. But because of you, I can freely urinate in the toilet bowl with each lurch of my vomiting. You have plenty of space. I had to barf in one of those blue barf bags in the car the other day, and was surprised at how much of an art form that was. . But not with you. I can frantically hold the rim of your wide opening which creates a very nice welcome in those moments I’m puking so hard I cant breathe. . . I remember the days with my first pregnancy when I could just puke into the toilet bowl. Yes, those were good times, but three babies have made me thankful for you and thankful that I’ve finally mastered not having to change my underwear. . I admit, that I will not miss you after this baby arrives. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll reunite when the flu bug comes, or when I finally decide to throw you away. But I know if that moment comes that I actually throw you away, I might deeply regret it.

Yours Truly,

One Sick Mama