So my bionic immune system let me down this week. I knew it was a matter of time, what with the immune-depressant effects of never sleeping ever.
First Anna displayed very un-Anna-like behavior, namely moping about the couch and falling asleep in front of the TV at 5 p.m. even though I was letting her watch God’s personal gift to her… H20, the show on Nickelodeon with “real mermaids.” I also offered her chocolate and juice to stay awake, and she slept through all these offers of life’s bounty. That meant she was sick.
If this doesn’t stir your heartstrings and make you ask why I’d be so mean as to not let her sleep, you’re probably a parent.
H20, in case you don’t have a three-year-old daughter obsessed with the possibility that she may one day turn into a “real mermaid with a fin that swims underwater,” is an Australian teen soap opera with girls who turn into mermaids when they go in water. It’s a horrible show in all respects and aimed for an audience at least a decade older than my child. So she asks me a million unanswerable questions about the plot line (nobody can explain that crap) and waits patiently for them to sprout their tails.
Imagine Saved By The Bell, but Australian, and worse.
So then I knew she was down for the count but being the kind of non-sensitive kid she is, she never tells me what’s wrong or what hurts so I can only guess. She’s basically the inverse of the toddlers who cry because the tag on their shirt bothers them. The only thing that makes her go apoplectic is getting sticky, but that’s a completely reasonable reaction to being sticky and I do it myself.
Then Henry started refusing to eat and being extra-exceptionally cranky (terror alert was red) and then my throat started hurting and I went, oh, that’s why he doesn’t want to eat. So now I’m sick and Henry is sick and Anna is better and I don’t know if it’s the flu or not because the pediatrician’s office has a completely useless flu test that takes five days to get results from. My husband is not as sick because he enjoys taking copious amounts of pharmaceuticals at any sign of a sneeze.
I have a pretty decent immune system and I thought I was golden, missing out on lots of colds Anna brought home from school. But this flu-like virus bested me this time.
So here I am, making sad little half-assed computer printouts of Valentine’s Day cards for preschool, cursing all those moms who insist on baking, like, individual French chocolate souffles with Disney Princess Cordon Bleu ice sculptures for the four-year-old set (really, moms?) and watching H20 and drinking black coffee. If anyone thinks I’m making heart-shaped foodstuffs for any meal today, they are very, very, wrong.
Oh, and I’m on exercise rest for a week because the orthopedist diagnosed me with Chronic Exertional Compartment Syndrome. Say that ten times fast, then cry with me over cookies. Sucks to be a chronic exerter. So there’s that. Is it next year yet?