When Dash came down with another high fever and started throwing up again yesterday afternoon, I vowed to take him to the doctor first thing this morning. Lo and behold, somehow, he either has another double-ear infection or, more likely, the first one never went away. So, he's on his favorite fifi medi, known to mankind as the very expensive yet good tasting antibiotic Omnicef, again. Again, again, again. This family has too much illness, and I'm sick of it. Is our house built on an undisclosed Superfund site? Because I know that kids get sick, but not this sick, not this often. One chirpy acquaintance bragged to me today that her kids have never had a vomiting-type illness. While I'm pretty sure she's lying, if she's not, then obviously the cosmos is out of balance, because she's not getting her fair share of this crap.
So today sucks. I have changed my own clothes three times because of getting barfed on, including once right down my v-neck shirt. I still feel like crap myself, my Christmas cards aren't done, my friends' packages aren't mailed, I have not baked a single morsel and I have not packed a thing for Vermont. And since Dash boots about once every twenty minutes, progress will not be made on any of these fronts today. I feel bad for Dash, as he's obviously miserable and suffering. I feel bad for Petunia, as I can pay next to no attention to her while her brother's so needy. I feel bad for the Guv, because Dash screams for him to come home, and, of course, he has to work. But I also feel bad for me, because I haven't gotten a break at all. There must be a lesson, a message in all of this, but all I keep thinking is that in twelve years, Dash will be in boarding school, and he'll probably still be puking his guts out all of the time... so all of this clean up will be replaced by far-away worry, as I'll surely be sitting on a beach in Hawaii, sipping a Lava Flow and wondering how my kids grew up so fast.
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