Three days laying on the sofa can make a person introspective. Once I've exhausted the finite number of episodes of "Call the Midwife," there's nothing left but to think. I don't do well with too much time to ruminate about life's imponderables, it has a tendency to blow my mind then make me anxious. I've always had a bent towards the melodramatic, from the age when skinned knees were akin to amputations right up to full mourning for a break up. It shouldn't surprise me, then, that when I have the flu I always without fail, think I'm dying. I tearfully tell my husband there is something very very wrong with me. I pitifully ask for a glass of gingerale and an ice pack cherishing them both as if they were my last meal.
Something about this flu seemed even more pathetic. As I lay on the sofa fully immersed in my misery, I was aware that I had a daughter to take care of. I heard her being brought home from the babysitter's and being given her bath. I was forbidden by my germ phobic husband to have contact with her, so I waved at her as she was wisked off to have her diaper changed. Perhaps most traumatizing was listening to her tears when she was being put to bed without our nightly nursing ritual. I didn't have the strength nor the desire to pass on my germs, so I listened to her cry.
Being a parent makes everything just a bit more special and a bit more difficult. Eventually the flu made it's rounds through our family. First the projectile vomit of Callah where I spent two hours wiping the floor, Callah and me up and waiting for the next eruption. She felt fine the next day, but by that time my husband was laid out flat for two days. Remarkably that was the first such experience for us and although it was a rough week, we survived it and all still love each other.
The flu and spring break explain why I have been so remiss about posting on my blog lately. I hope to get a few more posts and pictures of the last few weeks up shortly. In the meantime, I plan to relish the spring and enjoy the health of my family!
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