It’s the house of puke and poop here. Started Sunday night with me vomiting myself into incapacitation all night into Monday, and since, pooping myself silly. My Beloved Mister had to stay home from work Monday to care for Ziggy, as for the first time ever, I was unable to do anything for him at all but nurse him. I’m still fevering on and off and having diarrhea, though it’s down from the constancy of previous days. Ziggy's been running a fever of 102 since yesterday and having some diarrhea also. I only checked email for the first in days yesterday.
I am hopeful we can catch a bit of a damned break here soon!
We won’t attend our MAU Mobilize the Mamas action & playgroup tomorrow; I don’t think we’re in the clear for passing anything along even if we suddenly feel better by then, and honestly, there’s just too much here for me to do right now.
I feel like Loretta Lynn in One's on the Way, but I'm the urban mama of a singleton and with the pukes and poops and the diapers stacking up needing washing and the kitchen sink plumbing backed up and pooling in the yard, I need to get a handle on it and be grateful for indoor plumbing. Period.
From this point forward, I’m just working to get well as get as much packed and / or purged / picked up by World Relief by the end of next week as possible. My in-laws are here a week from tomorrow for their annual summer visit and I want things to be manageable for a fine visit and not as much disorganization when they were last here at New Year when we were also mid-move.....
At this point, to keep stress down, I’m pretty singularly focused on getting in my work hours this month and doing what needs doing here and arranging to get everything moved. My heart is breaking over missing out on the big family beach vacation the second week of July -- due to this move!-- and I have to hand it to my sister (oh she of much planning and organization) who is right: my life is always a mess and something always seems to invade to muck up plans, so our little family isn't worth planning around.
My wild child is alternating between feverish gibberish and wanting to nurse, nurse, nurse, and telling me “don’t like that!” while pushing away the offending item. (He really does think he's already two!) He’s also taken breaks between this and that to smash saltines all over the floor (while saying, "Daddy just cleaned that!") and to write with highlighter marker all over the couch.
I am so flipping far from a saint, and since we’re supposedly not given more than we can handle, I know that an easier time (big picture) is coming…