Last week I had a ridiculous idea that I was still young enough to handle drinking an excessive amount of everything for my 25th birthday. This act of extreme stupidity was followed up with a skating competition for P 12 hours later. I mean, yay for silver, but my head hurt! By that night, the throat pain had set in. The demon that is throat pain. Is it strep? Should I sterilize the house and quarantine myself? No, I just have an I'm-almost-30 hangover. This was followed by the realization that I was actually getting sick.
2 days later I woke up to realize my eyes were like marshmallows with slits to see out of. I sounded like a 14 year old boy going through puberty, and I was freezing. I called in to work and asked my "husband" to take P to school. Then I took some pills, put on some Netflix, and rested all day. HAHAHA! I.Wish.
I actually flopped my freezing cold self into the bathroom with the worst vertigo of my life. I was stumbling like a college freshman at frosh week. I slapped on a robe, some fleecy pants, and shivered my way to the kitchen. There, I made coffee and tried to assemble the best lunch I could for P. Oh what's that? Follow the Canadian Food Guide & have a no trash lunch? Not today school, not today.
Then the challenge came of clothing, grooming and feeding the beast P. She's like a teenager in the morning so that was a blast. She had Rice Crispies with "Lots of sugar!" because, you're going to school, so who cares at this point! I got a kiss goodbye and retreated to my bed. For 15 minutes.
Moms can't get sick. I would have to be hospitalized to not have the nagging feeling I should be doing something. So 15 minutes into my Glee marathon, I started folding laundry. Not just one load either. This was the laundry that had been piling up, creating a mountain of laundry shame in my bedroom. Mount You Suck At Life.
At about noon, a wave of exhaustion hit me. I was sick, so napping was really what I needed. But there was more laundry, dishes, dusting, vacuumi-Shut the fuck up brain! It's nap time! Then the texts started. "Are you ok?" Nope. "Do you know where this random object is at work?" Nope. "Can you call me?" Hells to the nope. Can't a girl get some nappy time? At this point I wanted to suck my thumb and cry like an over tired 18 month old.
Finally, I passed out. I didn't drift away into a sleepy abyss, awakening to the sound of birds chirping, and stretching as I realized I felt better. I passed out from my feverish exhaustion, only to wake up in a puddle of sweat, facing the realization that I smelled like hell, and needed to shower before getting P from school. After retrieving P, I suffered through her homework, made us some soup, and convinced her a movie date in Mom's bed was the best idea EVER.
I don't get sick. I don't get the flu, or a cold and the world stops. The show must go on and apparently I'm the star. I'm on day 6 of this death-cold/fluish thing I've contracted, and I've kept it together. Sunday may just be the day this mom quits for 12 8 4 2 0 hours. Screw it, I'm always on duty.
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