I've only got one nice thing to say about the sicky-bug that has invaded Ezra's system these past few days: it was kind enough to wait until after Ezzie's birthday to attack. That's where my affection for this sicky-bug ends and my fanatical loathing of it begins...
The morning after Ezra learned to spit on his birthday candles, he woke up really really late. I'm talking like 10:30 AM. When he finally started making some noise in his crib, I went in to get him, and he was burning up with a raging high fever. He was lethargic all day and didn't get up off the couch until late in the afternoon. He was still eating, which was good, but the thermometer was peaking around 103 degrees and Ezra kept falling asleep while in the complete upright and locked position. We laid low, and over the next few days, I spent many hours sitting on the couch with my son- he dozing on and off while 'The Emperor's New Groove' played on repeat in our DVD player, while I perused the pages of eBay until I was in a similar zombie-like state.
That's been my life since WEDNESDAY.
Something about all of this sitting and eating and not leaving the house has made me a bit crazy... a bit cheerless and glum. If ever there has been a time that I've failed my New Year's Resolution, (the one where I resolved to know taking care of my son was enough) it has been these past few days. I've felt lonely and directionless, like a bump on a log or a big waste of space. I've felt lazy and idle and far from being a good wife or mum. Chris has offered countless times to take over for a couple hours so I could get out of the house, but getting dressed and figuring out where I would go to kill a couple of hours becomes, somehow, overwhelming- so I choose to stay at home. On the couch.
I'm sure this is normal and okay and understandable, me feeling this way... I mean, I'm sure most mothers with sick children aren't dressed to a T and scrubbing the darkest corners of their houses while a gourmet meal simmers in the oven- timed to be *ding!* ready the second their husbands walk through the door, right? Surely not. You show me someone like that, and I'll show you someone who most likely has wires for veins and a micro-chip for a heart. Like Rosie from the Jetsons.
Oh man I used to love that show. I wonder if you can buy seasons of 'The Jetsons' on DVD somewhere?
eBay, here I come.