Saturday, January 13, 2007
No voice, tiny baby
It's hard to do more than merely watch Alice as she destroys the baby's various accoutrements when you have the kiddie crud.
It started off with a tiny little white spot on my tonsil during the labor. I ignored it, in spite of its raw little stabbings demanding attention. But I'm a trooper, having had 10,000 sore throats in the last year. Yes, that's an official count. It's getting to the point that I'd consider having my tonsils out, 1950's style. We're talking 10-year-old burining, non-swallowing, knock-down drag-out tiki death viruses here. Flat on back viruses. And one stomach flu, the likes of which I haven't seen since Jr. High. Who knew you could get the kiddie crud when your kiddie doesn't go to daycare. And when your kiddie doesn't get the crud. Your kiddie just stresses you out and you go out into the world sucking on various latex nipples after they've fallen on the floor in Big Lots and *you* get the kiddie crud. Repeatedly. The last time, I got some black-market antibiotics from my mother-in-law's pharmacy to kick the crud out of me after 2 solid weeks of whimpering madness. I hate the kiddie crud, but it's become a routine part of my life.
No comments about my inability to weigh more than 100 lbs., please. I am currently eating chocolate cake, and for the rest of the peanut gallery, I'm chasing it with an orange and some tea. Everyone satisfied?
Well, the blister disappeared, leaving me to battle the aftermath with 3 hours sleep since Tuesday night...oh Tuesday night, I shall remember you for the next 2 months...and here I am.
This is a long blog entry because you are my only human contact! People come in and snicker, "Can we make her do that all the time? Hardy har har," and wander back out. Damn them all. Damn the kiddie crud.