Can I complain to you for a little bit?
This week has been one for the books. The bad books.
It all started pretty well since I had just had a nice R&R weekend and I was looking forward to finishing a few sewing projects this week.
But Noni wasn't herself, and for all of Sunday and Monday I was confined to the couch with her. Breaking skin contact even for a moment brought swift and immediate retribution in the form of ear-splitting wails and attempted pummelings by her tiny fists. I even took her to the doctor thinking that she MUST have an ear infection, but they couldn't find a thing wrong with her besides her impending molars.
Then Tuesday afternoon I was sitting at my sewing machine while the kids were napping and I started to feel seasick. By three o'clock I knew that after several nail-biting months, the stomach bug that had been going around town was happening to ME. No. Nonononononononono.
I will spare you the details, but this was not some trifling virus. It was a "can't get out of bed, lose 5% of your body weight in 8 hours" kind of virus. Luckily Nemo was able to come home from work to wrangle the kids while I was busy puking my guts out.
By midnight I was able to keep down some water and I was hoping to get some sleep, when I heard the worst sound in the world coming from CJ's room.
No. Just no.
It was like a horror movie in there, but instead of pig's blood it was half-digested hot dogs and blueberries, which I think is much, MUCH grosser.
Obviously I couldn't deal with the mess just then so I mopped up the pukster, banished Nemo to the guest room, laid down some towels on the bed, and tried to get CJ back to sleep.
Except he couldn't sleep because as sick as he was was, he was FASCINATED with the digital alarm clock. The next several hours sounded like this:
"Now it say twelve fifty and eight!....*excited squeak* Now it say twelve fifty and nine!...*puke gag puke* *very excited squeak* Now it say one hundred!"
I finally had to turn on the tv to keep him occupied, which surprisingly ended up conking him out--splayed across my poor, abused stomach, naturally.
So the remainder of the week was spent dealing with that nonsense. Oh, and then today I discovered that someone had smashed off the side view mirror of the minivan we've had for all of six weeks. And AND we had to pay for a lost library book. Awesome.
Does the fact that I survived this week mean I've leveled up as a mom? You know, I don't even want to level up. I just want chocolate, except I can't eat any because I'm still too queasy.
Ok, I'm done now. Carry on.
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