This week something very close to the bubonic plague hit me, minus the festering pustules. Started out with congestion and quickly turned to aching, wheezing, puffy eyes, can't sleep misery. On Tuesday we had a 2.5 hour meeting in which I was barely able to hold up my head. Did anyone say to me, "You should really go home"? No, of course not. I'd probably have to pass out at the reception desk to be sent home.
So yesterday I decided to stay home. Well, 'decided' implies I had a choice. I couldn't move so really, I had no choice. I stayed in bed and just hoped to live through this. Belly came in to check on me at some point in the morning. He jumped on the bed and stuck his cherub face in front of me and asked, "Momma, do you got a sunburn on your nose?" When he realized I was half dead and he could probably get his way, he rubbed his hands together like a comical bad guy and asked if I'll play Spongebob Googly Eyes with him when/if I wake up. That's what he calls Monopoly because of the (you guessed it) Googly eyes on the box. Yeah, sure kid. Leave me alone.
Then at 11am Golden Boy's school called and said he wasn't feeling well, so my dear husband went to pick him up. He came home and started playing Spongebob Googly Eyes with Belly. On my way to get more of the useless decongestant I mentioned that he didn't look very sick to me. His smile faded and he looked at me very seriously over his glasses and he said, "Oh, but I am."
A few shots of NyQuil later and everything blissfully faded away.
Until the alarm went off this morning.
Got up with much effort and went to get the kids moving. DH didn't help with the kids, instead took himself a nice solitary shower. Golden Boy was moving slower than my dead grandmother. (Don't know where that saying came from, but I don't have any dead grannies) For once in his little life, Belly was the only one doing what he was supposed to. I handed GB his clothes, and came back in with a waffle and sausage for him. Instead of THANKING me, he yells out that he wanted cereal. This did not elicit a nice response from me. So I go upstairs mumbling about the ungrateful child and my dear husband asks if I'm on a laundry hiatus. I scream out, "I've been sick! What do you want from me!" and storm out of the room. The morning continued as such with me feeling like a maid (and a rotten one at that!) And now I'm at work, preparing for another meeting. This one should "only" last an hour I'm told. Yay.
I'm still not feeling so great. Well, at least there's NyQuil to look forward to!