Approximately two weeks ago, I was kicked in the head (and stomach) by a vicious stomach bug for four days straight. When I finally felt better and it looked as if all the kiddies were well again, I jinxed myself by believing once and for all we were set to welcome spring and say goodbye to the season of the flu.
Fuckin’ germs are giggling at me right now as they multiply around my house. All three kids are down and out with sore throats, fevers, chills and the rest of the flu rigmarole. I have also been taken hostage and generally feel like crap. I managed to rally last night just long enough to help Chris get the kiddies in bed and then I was out from 7:30 until 6:30 this morning. (Helped along, I am sure, by my marvelous nightcap of a heaping dose of lovely Nyquil. I heart you Nyquil. You rock my world. Particularly the cherry flavor.)
The only one not to succumb to the vicious flu is my darling husband Chris. This has led to Chris romping around the house in various strong man poses as he yells in a deep voice, “I am strong like bull.” The boys are even saying it now: “Daddy, strong like bull.” Because Mommy can eat her veggies, take a daily vitamin and wash her hands until they crack and bleed but I am still going to contract every fuckin’ virus that hits our house thanks to my germy kiddies.
Bitter, much? Yes, very much so, thanks for asking.
So three kiddies and me sick, sick, sick and is it wrong that what I am really concerned about is my ability to get to my appointment to have my hair cut tomorrow? Because that hair appointment has been like the highlight of MY MONTH and if some runny noses, coughs and sore throats keep me from dying my roots I am NOT going to be a happy camper. Yes, Mother of the year, huh? I like to think so.
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