Alive and Blogging

I'm headed to bed to finish up my most recent fluffy romance novel (I've read four of them in the past three days, I suppose being sick has at least one advantage), but I just wanted to let you all know that I am alive and appear to have beaten back the stomach bug that tried to kill me. Or at least kill my first free non-working weekend in seven weeks. A weekend in which we were supposed to go to a toddler birthday party and then to San Antonio to meet up with my parents and celebrate my grandpa's 81st birthday. And then on Sunday I was supposed to go to the Four Seasons for an afternoon fancy tea baby shower, a baby shower for which I was a hostess! I'm still very bitter about missing the last one, though I was glad to hear it was lovely and went off without a hitch. But obviously I am better if I can mourn the loss of those fabulous tasty treats instead of throwing up at the mere thought of them.

I stayed home from work today, and with both kids in daycare and JP out coaching and going to doctor appointments, it was very restful and exactly what my body needed. I even ate pizza for dinner (from Costco, of course) and was excited about it. I'm cured.

One of the worst parts about the weekend, besides how hideously awful I felt every waking moment, was how much I just wanted the day to end so the kids would to bed. I kept looking at the clock, moaning as I moved my head enough to get it in view, and thinking, "how the hell is it only [whatever] o'clock? Why isn't it 7:30 yet?" And I hated that. It was for the best that I never touched them or played with them, we certainly didn't want them catching whatever I had, but it made me sad underneath my wishing they would just go away so I could hurt and vomit in peace. I love our weekends. Even when I have a ton of work to do I never wish them away, we always find a way to happily work and play around each other, and it made me even more miserable to know how desperately I wanted each day to end- which might be okay if it was because that I was thinking it would bring me one day closer to feeling better, or because I wanted the kids to escape my germs, but really it was because the end of the day means the kids are in bed and not awake and wanting to be with me. The guilt in feeling that way did not aid my recovery.

On a very opposite note, when I first started feeling queasy on Saturday morning, I was laying in bed, watching JP get dressed to go help Landon with his breakfast, and said, "this is exactly what it feels like to be pregnant." He paused, looking at me questioningly, and I exclaimed, "I'm not or anything, I'm just saying, this is what it feels like." And then I kind of laughed, "thank goodness, there's no way way I am, right?" He just shrugged and said, "Actually, it'd be kind of great, then we'd just get it over with."

And you know what? I was secretly thinking the exact same thing.