It sucks being sick. It sucks even more when you're taking care of a rambunctious, squirmy soon-to-be one-year-old. And it triple sucks when your husband's sick as well. Yes, welcome to the Household That Is Not Feeling Well. It started with Sophie's cough and cold last week. So apparently, I didn't get the memo stating how lethal baby germs are and now both Jude and I are down with the same thing- scratchy throats, dry hacking coughs, sniffly noses, and teary eyes. Worse thing is, I can't take anything for it since I'm still nursing. I took one dose of DayQuil this morning and I think my milk supply dipped in reaction (the decongestant which is supposed to dry your sinuses dries up the milk glands too). So I've just been guzzling plenty of water, tea, and Jude's awesome lemon-honey elixir (juice of half a lemon, the same chunk of lemon, honey, and hot water in a small mug. Potent stuff.) Without taking regular meds and only being able to nap while Sophie napped, it was a long weekend.
Of course, I can't explain all this to Sophie who's just bursting with energy now that she's on the upswing from being sick last week. So to keep her occupied-- there's only so much she can do in the house-- I took her to the library and balloon-shopping for her birthday. Poor Jude has a paper deadline for work on top of fighting this bug so I had to take Sophie on my own. It was not pretty- we had to drive to two different stores to find a place that would do balloon delivery, something about opening a new store next weekend meant that the place I had originally decided on now doesn't do deliveries, I wasn't feeling well, I was tired from not sleeping properly the night before but hadn't taken coffee coz of my throat, and Sophie was whiney from being strapped in her car seat which she decides once in a while that she hates.
And even when we're home, the lethal combination of her increased mobility (i.e. speedy crawling) and a mind of her own (i.e. heading towards the kitchen and pulling on cables after being told she's not supposed to) means we have to *constantly* keep an eye on her. I thought maybe reading in bed with her would be somewhat more relaxing but no, we went through 8 books, 3 of which I had to read twice. And we're talking the kind of reading that involves full-on reading from beginning to end, talking about each and every picture, and acting excited about each peekaboo flap and textured page. Don't get me wrong, I love that Sophie has both the attention span and the desire for us to read to her, but honestly, by the time she decided we were done with the books, I was mentally exhausted. Oh, and did I mention that she chose last night of all nights to scream bloody murder at 2.00am and 6.00am after having slept through the night for almost two weeks straight? I did not wake up a happy camper this morning.
Maybe I can sneak in some quality Serene-needs-to-get-well-in-order-to-finish-Chapter-Five nap time tomorrow when Sophie's at daycare. It's weekends like these that make me almost forget the guilt I sometimes feel for putting her in daycare...
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