I was sick this week. So sick that I used my last expensive pregnancy test. Not those 88 cent cheapies from the top shelf at Wal-Mart. No, I used a Clear Blue.
I was so sick, I put a shortcut to Dave’s cell number on my homescreen and had Graham practice calling Daddy.
I almost blacked out three times.
But I still had to do laundry, change diapers, make bottles, cut up lunch, listen to 87 stories, and have an audience during all ten of my almost-dying-in-our-bathroom moments.
Because I’m a mom. There was no one to relieve me. I had to keep moving. And it was exhausting.
Now, my husband is sick. Violently ill. He told the kids they couldn’t make noise. He slept in our bed for five hours. He took a bath. And I ran to Wal-Mart and got him ginger ale. And did laundry, changed diapers, made bottles, cut up dinner, listened to 87 stories, and had an audience while I peed.
And our youngest hasn’t left my side (or shoulders) for 6 days. She is so afraid I am leaving again.
This week kicked my butt, but I’m praying that Dave will heal quickly, Graham will stay healthy, and I can keep from eating all the Starbursts in the poop container.