Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Like Having a Tractor Run Over my Head

At this point, with Baby Boy being 10 months old, I figured that there was pretty much nothing that life could throw at me that I couldn't handle. After all, I've managed to make just enough money while watching my son full time (well, minus the one-day a week where he's off socializing in day care) and can keep the house clean enough that the it hasn't been shut down by the Hazardous Waste association.

And then we came back from France. In France, I developed a mild cold. The kind of mild cold that your head feels mildly stuffy with and your throat has traces of mucus that you can feel shake around when you cough violently. No big deal, especially when 10 months ago, your whole body tried to shut down in a big flaming ball of agony.

Then on the plane ride over, my little cold somehow morphed into the Bird flu or maybe even measles or the black plague. It's kind of hard to tell since I'm not a doctor and those online sites make them all sound the same as the common cold. My head feels like it's in a garlic press, stuff is coming out of my nose each time I blow it that's the same green as nuclear waste and I feel like I could die because I feel so shitty.

And yet I have a 20-pound ball of energy crawling over my half-dead body all day long, treating me like one cellulite-covered speed bump, each time saying "weeeeeee," to ensure that my migraine feels a little worse.

I've hardly ever called in sick from work, except for the one day a year that I'd decide to play hooky since I hadn't used any of my sick days at every job I had. But now, in this new job of mine called motherhood, there is no day off. And not only am I expected to still change diapers, feed the child on a regular basis and entertain him, I need to somehow treat myself like some contagious freak who should be in a bubble to ensure that I don't make my little blob sick.

Because as shitty as I feel right now, I'll feel a hell of a lot shittier being healthy again and having to deal with a screaming sick child.

Oh and advice to any of you mothers. If you feel so crappy you can't make it to the mailbox and the only medication you have in the house is Nyquil and you think to yourself "what the fuck, it's after 3 p.m.," let me tell you what the fuck really is. It's that you'll continue to feel shitty, but also feel like you're drowning in murky Floridian marsh water. All while your child is shaking you because you're not banging on the tambourine enough.

Love,

Catwoman.

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