Last week I took Sydney to the Children's Museum while Eli was at school. She wanted to paint and I thought it would be fun to have a mommy-daughter day. It totally was! It was especially great because she stayed away from all the exhibits I hate (water room of horrors) and focused on the places that I like (recycled art! salad spinner painting!). It was a lovely day complete with a lovely picnic of apples and cheese and beautiful manners in public. Fast forward three days, which is just long enough for millions of unwashed baby germs to manifest into one of the worst colds I have ever had. I came home (or was banned, depending on who you ask) from work in the middle of the day on Monday, changed my clothes, sat down on the couch, and woke up on Wednesday. It. Was. Awful. Poor C, I couldn't even pretend to parent and instead just wallowed in my misery and cursed the tiny spawn that was preventing me from taking "the good drugs." That and yelling/moaning at the kids, "Don't touch me!" "Don't drink from my water bottle!" "Don't get my germs!" "Go wash your hands!" Eli even felt so bad for me that he used his own money to buy me chocolate. Finally yesterday I woke up, stayed awake for several hours, and got confirmation that yes, I could take Sudafed without giving the baby a third eye. Blissfully I started to feel quasi-human again. Last night, as C and I were picking up the house after I'd put the kids to bed, he told me "This last week was hard. I can't do this all by myself." And the sounds of millions of moms singing could be heard throughout the heavens. Poor guy is ragged.
Today I'm a solid 75%. I have pants on, I've eaten actual food, and I'm not rocking the oh-so-attractive Vaseline under the nose look. Looking around, I'm relieved that C seems healthy and that the kids don't seem to be coming down with anything. And then. Then Syd asks me for toilet paper (because we're classy and ran out of Kleenex two days ago) so she can wipe her nose.
Pray for us. It could be a long few weeks.