I'm writing from the fog of The Sick. It swirls around me in a heavy mist, a curtain that obscures my view of the world.
Tuesday had me cribside at midnight, comforting an ailing Bean. (She was not impressed with my comforting skills.) After several attempts to get her settled back in bed I made the fateful decision that nearly always comes back to haunt: I brought her back into bed with me.
I don't know why I think it's ever going to work. We haven't had a good night's sleep like this, she and I, in over a year. I think it has something to do with my fuzzy-headed night logic (maybe if I bring her back into bed with me, we'll both be able to get some sleep).
As you can imagine, we didn't. I clocked an hour total for me, just praying for daylight so I could sit up in bed and not feel sick about it (sitting up in bed before 4am tends to make me a little... eh... CRAZY).
I have some thoughts about The Sick as it relates to The Parent, but more specifically The Solo Parent, as I like to call myself during the week when Chip is away on business. But today is not the day to share those thoughts, since I was actually given strict instructions from my husband to "try not to talk to anyone else" after a very brief and very weird conversation via telephone. (My thought: so it's that bad, eh?)
So consider this, not a communication per se, merely a message balloon released skyward from a shaky hand:
HERE'S HOPING THIS PASSES QUICKLY.
(And one last parenthetical:
A huge thank you to the four wonderful bloggers who participated in yesterday's April 1st swap. They were tremendously good sports. And please excuse my snarky hot mess of an entry about Sesame Street. That was written/edited from the deepest darkest depths of The Sick Fog and boy, I was a little... hammered. It's nearly impossible to find the funny when you're functioning on an hour of sleep.)