... just half-dead.
I did the one thing that a mother just cannot do: I got sick. Not just a little sick -- a lot sick. I-can't-get-out-of-bed sick. The kind of sick where my husband altered some of his own plans because he knew that the situation was that dire. And it was horrible. I have no idea what "it" was. Perhaps a flu, perhaps a virus, perhaps a stomach bug... but four days into it, I'm still sweating through the sheets at night, waking up with terrible headaches, and have zero appetite.
To that end, perhaps I should call this my swimsuit-season diet?
I remain repulsed at the sight of food, which must be making my husband chuckle since he declared me a bottomless pit a couple of weeks ago during our wine country weekend getaway. The thought of tasting wine right now makes me sick. Actually, the thought of tasting air right now makes me sick.
So enough about that. I feel like the worst mother ever, as it was the last week of school and I pretty much missed it. My Petunia is now a fourth-grader. High praise to her dad for showing up for the year-end picnic while Dash (who miraculously got less sick than me for once) and I watched movies in bed. I am moderately better mostly because of that fourth-grade angel, who has distracted her brother magnificently while I've been laying in bed moaning.
That brother, on the other hand, will not tolerate me being sick for one more minute. He has screamed "MOMS DON'T GET SICK!" in my face about 2000 times. He has ordered me to put my shoes on and take him to the park RIGHT NOW about as often. Thank God it's the weekend, and daddy has them at the park... which makes me wonder why I'm not in bed.
Oh, that's right, there's laundry to fold. I forgot: Moms don't get sick.
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