Ugh. Again.

In yet another series of crappy days, Chris got horribly knocked down by a stomach bug, which had him throwing up during our drive to work on Monday. (I turned around, drove him home, and sent him to bed.) He had a big, important presentation on Wednesday, so the poor guy dragged his miserable self into the office on Tuesday to prepare for it. Meanwhile, although I had been feeling rather sluggish lately, I was in much better shape than Chris was on Monday and Tuesday, so I handled all the Charlotte stuff and was Chris’s patient nurse. He was a very sick puppy, poor thing. Charlotte woke up on Monday and Tuesday mornings at around 4:00 a.m., which nearly killed me, but more importantly, I worried that she was now getting sick. Which takes us to Wednesday. On Wednesday, Chris gave his presentation—and rocked it, getting the result he wanted—and I started feel beyond crappy. I was having fantasies of going home and getting under 50 blankets, but alas—it’s conference time at work and book tragedies are occurring all over the place. (It’s quite ugly, but all will be well by April 13. It always is.) Then Charlotte’s school called around 2:30—they declared our child sick, and we had to go get her. Chris picked me up, I drove him the one mile back to his work, and then I drove to pick up Charlotte. She was surprisingly fine when I got her—no fever, a bit of a smile. But she also had a bad cough and had been fussy. I then drove back to Chris’s work to pick him up, with Charlotte screeching in the backseat the whole time. I thought my head would explode. Once there, we sat in the parking lot for about 20 or 30 minutes as Charlotte fussed in an excruciating, high-pitched way, waiting for Chris to emerge from his meeting. Then Chris dealt with work-related calls while Charlotte screamed the majority of the drive home. I think he was also aiming for the damn potholes, too, causing the contents of my tummy to unpleasantly roll. As I told him, the combination created a special hell, made just for me. At home, Chris redeemed himself and became a hero, handling Charlotte’s feeding and bedtime while I whimpered and shivered in bed. Fleece pajamas, a fleece robe, a down comforter, a quilt, and two heavy blankets failed to warm me up. Chris de-cluttered the house for house cleaners coming the next day, fixed me dinner (of which I ate about 2 forkfuls), made me tea, and kept adjusting the thermostat according to whether I was baking or freezing. I had no clue what today, Thursday, would hold. Who would stay home with Charlotte? I couldn’t NOT go to work—I cannot afford to miss a minute of work right now, but Chris had rescheduled all the meetings from Monday, when he was super sick, to Thursday. He had to go in. Plus, there was the fact that taking care of a sick kiddo when you feel sick yourself is very, very hard. What to do? Well, I simply hoped that Charlotte would be healthy enough to go to school. Aside from the cough, she seemed fine. Thursday morning dawned, and I felt better, but still very weak, achy, and feverish, with the occasional wave of nausea. Charlotte was a bit clingy (do you know how hard it is to haul around 26 pounds of kid when you can barely pick up your comb?), so the morning routine was slow going. Still, Charlotte made it to school; Mommy made it to work; Daddy made it to work. Thank goodness. I felt like poo, so the day dragged by. I think I worked at about half my usual pace, but I got done what I needed to get done—and that matters greatly right now. A separate note: Although I sincerely think that making a big deal about birthdays is annoying in anyone above the age of 12, certain milestones are of note—such as 16, 21, 30, 40, 50, 60, 70, 80, and so on. Thus, I’m publicly acknowledging that I turn 30 this weekend. (I have drafted a post about how I’m not one bit afraid of my 30s, but I won’t post it until I’m clear-headed enough to give it a decent edit. And that’s definitely not now.) Chris has planned some wine tasting and a fancy schmancy dinner—essentially a date afternoon and night, which are VERY hard for us to come by. We booked one of Charlotte’s teachers to babysit, figuring our girl would be less freaked out by someone she already knows well and adores. Thus, Chris and I are both extremely motivated to kick whatever bugs are keeping us from our A-game. I mean, we have actual plans this weekend that we’ve been looking forward to for weeks. No virus will stop us! Now then. Please excuse me while I lay my head down on the desk and wait for this wave of I-want-to-vomit to pass . . .