I’m sick. We’re all sick.
So I’ve been sick pretty much NONSTOP since D started preschool last month.
In my three years of parenthood, this is the first time D’s really been “out in the world,” and apparently those preschool germs are SERIOUS, man.
Here is how it goes:
- D gets sick.
- C gets sick a few days later.
- D is better.
- Darling Husband and I get sick a few days after C.
- C, Darling Husband, and I are all sick together.
- C begins to recover.
- Darling Husband recovers.
- I (finally) recover.
- D gets sick again.
- You want to lie in bed and feel sorry for yourself, but you have to get up with the kids.
- You want to moan and groan on the couch, but you need to make meals.
- You want to load up on NyQuil and conk out, but you’re breastfeeding and can’t take drugs (I’m done, though, so NOW I CAN, HOORAY!)
- You want someone to make you tea, but the kids are too little to operate a kettle.
- You want someone to feel sorry for you, but your husband is at work. DAMN HIM.
- You try to keep up with your work (from home), and embarrass yourself by hacking horribly in the middle of an interview.
I knew we’d be sick a lot this year, but it’s only October and already I’ve been sick more than I have in the last three years combined.
We got Family Flu Shots last week (well, all except for Miss C, since she has an egg allergy), and dear God, please let them have guessed right about which strands are coming this winter. I heard they guessed wrong last year, which explains That Really Horrible Intense Flu That Nearly Killed Me.
I love being a mom more than anything. Really, I do. But when I’m sick, there is nothing I want to do more than SHIP THE CHILDREN AWAY TO A MYTHICAL BABYSITTER, so I can lie in bed alone, in the silence, and feel sufficiently sorry for myself.
End rant. *cough* Thanks for listening.