With all the hubbub surrounding the iPhone Tragedy of 2007* I completely forgot that I totally meant to bitch about my glands. MY GLANDS, Y'ALL. THEY ARE SWOLLEN.
Towards the end of Noah's speech session, his therapist coughed a weak, dainty little cough. She immediately apologized and said she was just getting over a cold. I immediately waved my hand, oh pish, we have nothing to fear from your cold. (This was, of course, before the iPhone Tragedy of 2007 and thus my entire outlook on life was generally much sunnier and devil-may-care.)
Less than 24 hours later I was hacking up my lungs and wishing for death every time I swallowed for FIE. FIRE. IT BURNS. (Seriously, I never realized how often I swallow. Do you swallow a lot, do you think? Because this seems excessive. I haven't gotten a decent nights' sleep since Monday because I apparently swallow in my sleep and it wakes me up because it hurrrrrrrts me, wah.)
Today I feel like my eardrum may explode at any moment. This is insanely awesome.
(Don't you love reading entire blog posts dedicated to the careful documentation of cold symptoms? Personally I find them fascinating, although they never contain enough mucus talk for my tastes.)
AMY'S TO-DO LIST:
1) Buy more xylitol gum.
2) Get adenoids removed.
3) Find out what adenoids are.
4) Re-order to-do list.
Anyway. Y'all know what a special fresh hell it is, being sick while caring for a toddler, so I'll spare you a big long retread of that. Instead, one last little story before I go crawl back under my blanket of pestilence.
Amy: Noah, Mama is sick today. You need to play by yourself for a little bit.
Noah: <blank stare>
Amy: Sick. Not happy. She feels...boo hoo. Yes. Mama is very boo hoo today.
Noah: <comes up verrrry close to my face before busting out one of his gigantically goofy show Mama happy! smiles and waits for me to crack up>
Amy: Okay, okay. That's funny. Um. How about hurt? <makes sign for hurt> A boo boo? Mama has a boo boo today.
Noah: <starts examining my face and arms very carefully>
Amy: It's not really a boo boo you can see, baby. It's more like...
Noah: <finds a bruise on my elbow and kisses it, then finds an old burn on my hand and kisses that>
Amy: Okay you know what? I feel much better now, thank you.
*No, it still doesn't work. A trip to the Genius Bar is next, once I am no longer a raging ball of misery and mucus. I am thrilled by the combination of a new lower iPhone price AND the $100 in damage control courtesy of Mr. Jobs, although Jason is now all wide-eyed and panting at the idea of just paying to fix mine and then getting an iPhone of his very very own mmmmmmprecious. Then, of course, the next time I go to Target he will freak out over a $12 tank top purchase because don't I have ENOUGH tank tops? We don't have the money for an infinite tank top collection and honestly, I better go back to work if I want to buy tank tops all willy-nilly like that.**
**God, do think I'm a little BITTER because Jason didn't come home early to give my sick ass a break, or something? Jesus. No wonder nobody brings me any damn soup.