A veteran mom would have known. She would have caught it. She would have pulled out the humidifier, made soup, and begun pushing fluids. Alas, I am not a veteran mom, which is why my first sign that something was amiss came last night at 11:00. I heard a rustle over the monitor, and thought to myself; ‘oh crap, here we go again- another night without sleep.’ Then, there it was; the cough of doom. Just one. One little cute cough at eleven PM, and I knew. It had gotten us. We were infected. Throughout the night I heard many, many more coughs, but they didn’t seem to interrupt her sleep too much. Oh, but they interrupted mine. Not in the ‘holy geez this is annoying way,’ but in the really fun anxiety ridden way that I am prone to. Because we don’t do flu shots in this family. I don’t believe in them, and despite the pediatrician’s best effort to sneak one in (seriously, she tried) none of us have had one. But them, last night, suddenly, my brain was all ‘YOU MORON. WHO DOESN’T BELIEVE IN FLU SHOTS? WHHHHHYYY? WE SHOULD HAVE ALL GOTTEN FLU SHOTS. BUT NOW, BECAUSE OF YOU AND YOUR DARN BELIEFS WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE BY MORNING.’ My brain kept screaming those sort of beautiful thoughts at me all night. A few little mucousy coughs, and I am questioning my beliefs. I mean, really, this is what I knew would happen if we didn’t get flu shots. If you don’t get flu shots, then you get sick. Duh. But suddenly, we were in Contagion or something, and this wasn’t just some little cold or flu; it was death knocking at my door. By morning, I was convinced that Rose had succumbed to this awful illness (she hadn’t coughed in, oh, thirty minutes), that my husband laying next to me was by now a corpse, and I could feel my throat closing in. The only way I knew the dog was a live was I could feel her breathing on me underneath the blanket (oh, your dog doesn’t sleep under the blankets in your bed? Makes for a great night sleep.), plus, she kept kicking me in the face and stomach.
But then, the weirdest thing happened. Morning came. And, like, Rose was babbling away in her crib (among the coughs) and was ALIVE. And I was all like:
And then, I got her from the crib, brought her into our bed, nursed her, and let her crawl on her daddy (who, by the way, I still assumed was a corpse, since he had yet to move- sleeps like the dead, that one), and guess what? HE WAS ALIVE TOO. I was alive. The dog was alive (but we all knew that- she’s got more lives than a freaking cat). So, I took my poor, sick daughter downstairs, ready for a day of cuddling, and an excuse to watch TV all day. But, little stinker, she’s really not all that sick (yet? I don’t know- can a veteran mom tell me if this is normal? Is it about to get worse?) She was happy to play while I drank my coffee. She proceeded to climb all over every piece of furniture in the living room, while I alternated between terror at her dangerous moves and glee that perhaps she won’t be a nervous Nelly like her mom (I love this stage, by the way, it seems that we are always a wrong move away from the ER). Then, I whipped up some smoothies (full of spinach and blueberries, because all the crazy hippie moms know that’s what keeps you healthy. Oh, and garlic. A lot of garlic), and burnt some eggs for my husband as well. Wait. Yes, you better go back and read that again, because along with some sound medical advice, I let you know that I cannot cook, because; I BURNT EGGS. You know, the food that is supposed to be foolproof? Burnt them. Then, worse still; I SERVED THEM TO MY HUSBAND. I really am a rare gem.
So, yeah, that happened. And we’re alive. And Rose is like; “okay mom, enough we the liquid food already. Give me some cheese and peas, so my poop can stink and rhyme.” Sorry, little girl. Lunch is leftover tortilla soup. It does have black beans in it, though, so your poop will probably still stink, and, this is the best part; it is not burnt. YESSSSSSS. I WIN.
In addition to burning eggs, going upstairs 300 times only to forget what I needed, and generally losing my mind, here’s how I managed to strike out yesterday”
Strike one: put a load of laundry in the washer, complete with detergent. FORGOT TO TURN THE DAMN THING ON.
Strike two: made cookies. Put dough on cookie sheet. FORGOT TO PUT THE DAMN THINGS IN THE OVEN.
Strike three: decided after the last two strikes that coffee would help me get my act together. Pour a cup. Heat it in the microwave. FORGOT I PUT IT IN THERE UNTIL AN HOUR LATER WHEN I DECIDED I WANTED ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE. Oh, but then I really fail; I POURED ANOTHER CUP, ONLY TO OPEN THE MICROWAVE AND FIND MY CUP FROM THE HOUR BEFORE.
Annnnnddd she’s outta here; STRUCK. HER. OUT. Touche, mom brain, touche. Now I will go sit on the
bench couch, and watch last night’s Grey’s Anatomy while praying that Rose’s disease allows her to sleep for the whole thing. Crap. I think she’s up. In addition to being a gem of a wife, I am also one great mother. Not, but seriously, I love her, and sometimes, when her naps are too long, I just wish she would wake up and play. Right now, though, I just really, really want to watch Grey’s.