The last few days I have been writing a post in my head - a jubilant tale of how, at six months postpartum, my world seemed to fall back into place. How it seemed to be the magical babyhood month when I felt the reigns of my household firmly in my grip again. I was practically twirling around the house.
And then, Chad came home from the Dr. this afternoon with the declaration that he has type A influenza, and the Dr. wants him to stay home from work for ten days (yeah, right!).
And then, I found myself getting a little testy with the kids as we were getting ready for bed.
And then, after tucking them into bed, I walked downstairs, put the leftovers away, walked straight past the dirty dishes into the computer room, feeling just a little weary.
And then googled whether or not I should take the medicine the Dr. filled out for me (to prevent me from getting the flu). Okay while breastfeeding? Doctor says okay, everyone else says "hmmm." I really don't know. I tend to lean towards the "no" side, especially since it is only "just in case."
So tonight I will go to bed early, with my baby, in the guest room, while my poor sick husband tosses and turns yet another night. He really is miserable, that poor man, and I am lonely without his laughter. Maybe he will feel better tomorrow.
And then tomorrow, maybe that post will compose itself.
*Update - Gabe's got a temperature of 101. Another Coleman bites the dust.
