I told myself I would write today because it’s been over a month and I figured you guys MUST miss me. Mykah got sick yesterday, so I cancelled all my appointments at the salon and thought about what which subject to write about. I landed on being “Being friends with your ex”. But when I woke up this morning, I discovered something terrible had happened.
I’M SO EFFING SICK! I thought I was sick the other day and it was passing… I was wrong. Please, continue reading this in your best Miley Cyrus voice because that’s what it sounds like on my end. Ruca, my dog, is also sick. Not sure what she ate but it is NOT sitting well in her tummy. So every hour or so she starts dry heaving and I’m chasing her out the door. But that’s not the worst part.
I’m sick…. Mykah is sick….Ruca is sick. Wanna know who’s not sick? My two year old, Roman. He’s feeling just as energetic, hungry, brave and impatient as ever. Heaven help me, I might die.
Why does it ALWAYS work this way? Roman only gets sick when Rigo gets sick and you know who takes care of them? Me. They spend the majority of the day in bed or on the couch, watching “Paw Patrol” or “WWII in Color”… and I’m making sure the house is sanitized. I’m making sure there are fluids and meds on deck. I fetch the soup and tissue and shuttle Mykah to and from school.
Today is supposed to be my day. A day with one kid down and nothing to do but write and play with the little one. Instead I’m just a swollen throat and eyelids. Not just a swollen throat and eyelids… a swollen throat and eyelids fending for myself because it’s Tuesday and Rigo is working, an hour away, till Lord knows how late. I should be season 3 deep in Friends right now. I should be fighting a NyQuil coma.
Instead, I’m cleaning the house because my anxiety won’t LET me lay down on the couch. In fact, I swept the floor twice because after the first go around, I stopped to make myself a salad. I decided the salad needed cheese…feta cheese. And when I shook the feta cheese, it went FLYING EVERYWHERE because I’m an asshole and can’t remember to ever tighten a lid to anything. Everywhere. I literally antiqued myself. So I cried a little… ate my stupid salad… and swept again.
I can’t even take meds because I have to be alert enough to keep my son from jumping off the coffee table. I’m not taking Dayquil, shit’s weak. I need the good stuff. I need whatever Lil’ Wayne’s been drinking. I’m making eggs and sandwiches for the kids even though the baby ONLY wants to eat fruit pouches… which I’m tempted to give him, except I can’t or he will be all turds, all day, which I guess wouldn’t be so bad considering I can’t smell. I’m doing my best to quarantine Mykah, which isn’t working because “she’s bored” and Roman refuses to stop trying to kick down her door because he “wants Mykah kisses”. He also seems to think the bag of sugar in the panty is Goldfish crackers even though I have opened the bag, over and over, to show him it’s not Goldfish. In attempt to keep Roman in one spot I’m tickling his back with Ruca’s toy rope because I’m afraid to touch him with my hands.
There was a moment of peace. Roman was playing with his trains. Mykah was watching “Teen Titans” and I closed my eyes, despite my throbbing temples and started to doze off for what might have been 10mins before Roman stood 1 centimeter from my face and yelled,
as he clapped his trains and ran out of the living room. Not sure what he was getting me ready for, but I’m about to find out…. after I grab a beer. It’s a ShockTop (vitamin C, yay!)