Oh, Crappy Day

2:50 a.m. Listen to longest coughing fit ever from Charlotte via the baby monitor. 2:57 a.m. Go comfort crying Charlotte, soothing her back to sleep. 3:30 a.m. Return to bed. 5:00 a.m. Finally fall asleep after worrying about work for over an hour. 6:00 a.m. Get up. Try to be glad that I got to rise 40 minutes later than usual due to class I’m taking today. 7:20 a.m. Leave house and trek to Virginia. 8:10 a.m. Get stuck in gridlock on GW Parkway. Realize I will be late. 9:20 a.m. Arrive at class 20 minutes late, peeved beyond peeved that it took me 2 hours to get there. 9:45 a.m. Get increasingly annoyed at chit chat. Start the damn class already! Totally lose sight of the fact that I missed nothing by being 20 minutes late and should actually be grateful. 10:00 a.m.–12:00 p.m. Learn about templates. Realize that there is no scenario in my work in which I will need to use them. Develop loathing of classmates, whose (federal) government offices have teams of 5 people to put out a freaking 1-page memo. Feel smug and slightly superior for working at an organization, which suddenly feels like a private corporation in comparison. 12:01 p.m. Feel guilty for feeling smug and superior. Force self to think nice thoughts about everybody there, even the strange lady who talks with that snotty condescending voice. Decide her jacket is nice. Leave it at that, because the leopard-print scarf is heinous. Oops. 12:02 p.m. Break for lunch. Am only person who stays in classroom to catch up on work e-mail. Realize that I am tragically limited in what I can do from classroom. Worry about work. 12:25 p.m. Get informed by Chris that day care called. Charlotte has a temperature of 101.3. Close eyes and try not to cry. 12:30 p.m.–1:00 p.m. Worry a lot. 1:30 p.m. Explain to the instructor that I have to skip the last two modules. My baby is sick. She gives me a certificate of completion anyway. Feel guilty about it. 2:30 p.m. Gather my flushed, feverish girl. Cry (just a little) in school hallway. Swap cars with Chris so I have the Santa Fe (our only car in which the car seat fits). 2:45 p.m. Attend our fourth pediatrician visit within the past 4 weeks. The nurse gives me Motrin to shoot into Charlotte’s mouth. Miraculously, I succeed. Pediatrician says she has a new virus, probably because the antibiotics she’s already on made her more susceptible to viruses. He tests for the flu just to rule it out. Test is negative. 4:00 p.m. Arrive home. Put sick girl in crib. 4:10 p.m. Update West Coast family members on their granddaughter’s latest disease. 4:30 p.m. Make valiant effort to stay positive. Que sera, sera, right? Tackle sink full of dishes to prove that, in spite of me being SO INCREDIBLY SCREWED at work, I can at least get my kitchen in order. 5:00 p.m. Wonder if dishes effort is actually a manifestation of my neurotic desire to feel like my life is in control. 5:01 p.m. Worry that said life is, scarily enough, NOT in control. Thoughts about doom at work confirm this. 5:05 p.m. Wake Charlotte for dinner, bath, and antibiotics dose. 5:10 p.m. Decide to skip bath. Hell, she’ll be home tomorrow. She can have one in the morning. 5:15 p.m. Wait. What if she’s covered in a million OTHER viruses that could make her even SICKER? Lament education in the humanities and lack of medical degree and thus lack of medical knowledge. Decide to give bath. To be safe. 5:45 p.m. Give bath. 6:00 p.m. Put jammies on screaming toddler. Calm her with hair dryer. Dry her hair in the process. Dry it funny on purpose. Why not? She’s not going anywhere tomorrow. 6:45 p.m. Eat dinner. One part comes from plastic package, the other part comes from a box. 7:15 p.m. Fry brain with “Mad Love” and “American Idol.” Feel stupider, but don't care. 8:30 p.m. Debate whether we should attend church membership class tomorrow, what with child sick and all. Decide that Charlotte has slept well so far tonight, so she’ll probably be fine. Call and confirm babysitter for tomorrow night. 8:31 p.m. Type this blog post. Fantasize about going to bed. 8:55 p.m. POST BLOG