We made three visits to the doctor in 28 hours this weekend. I don't recommend this for a fun time, especially when one of those visits is on Easter Sunday morning and involves my dear 3-year-old being the only patient to ever visit a normally closed pediatrician's office in an Easter dress, an eye swollen half-shut, and a date for mass in an hour...At the end of an all, the tally is as follows: two cases of walking pneumonia (me and the Mighty), two ear infections (the girls, and the reason for Saoirse's fight face) and a sinus infection (me, just to throw a sick momma into the mix to even things out). As I type this, David has sealed himself into a bathroom and is bathing in Purell. I fully expect him to emerge in a biohazard suit...No, just kidding. He's been awesome. But still. Good thing he washes his hands a lot. A whole lot.
So, with all the syringes and open medication bottles, our house looks like a New Jersey beach circa 1987. Quinn does a lot of sleeping--unless it's 8 p.m, then she just wants to cry till she gets some cuddle time. SK is catching up on her Toy Story sequels (if you knew how much we limit tv around here...well, you'd know how sick we are). And Momma is scraping together the lowest-maintenance meals she can find so she doesn't have to lift her pounding head too high above horizontal (leftover hardboiled Easter eggs? Breakfast! Toast and yogurt for lunch? Why not?). Have I mentioned that the weather outside has been absolutely gorgeous? I noticed this from my spot on the couch, surrounded by tissues and empty mugs of tea, when SK, through her runny nose and coughing, asked to go play.
These awful sicknesses. I feel like when--if?--we're all finally well, we'll emerge from our house like hostages of some underground cave, what will all the squinting in the sunlight and learning how to communicate with society we'll have to do. It's like we've stepped out of the world for a few days...and I think we're all anxious to step back in. Me, especially. There's only so much toast a girl can eat.
So, with all the syringes and open medication bottles, our house looks like a New Jersey beach circa 1987. Quinn does a lot of sleeping--unless it's 8 p.m, then she just wants to cry till she gets some cuddle time. SK is catching up on her Toy Story sequels (if you knew how much we limit tv around here...well, you'd know how sick we are). And Momma is scraping together the lowest-maintenance meals she can find so she doesn't have to lift her pounding head too high above horizontal (leftover hardboiled Easter eggs? Breakfast! Toast and yogurt for lunch? Why not?). Have I mentioned that the weather outside has been absolutely gorgeous? I noticed this from my spot on the couch, surrounded by tissues and empty mugs of tea, when SK, through her runny nose and coughing, asked to go play.
These awful sicknesses. I feel like when--if?--we're all finally well, we'll emerge from our house like hostages of some underground cave, what will all the squinting in the sunlight and learning how to communicate with society we'll have to do. It's like we've stepped out of the world for a few days...and I think we're all anxious to step back in. Me, especially. There's only so much toast a girl can eat.
No comments:
Post a Comment