I have nothing to tell you this week. Nada. Zilch.
Okay, so I actually do have some ideas for blog posts, but one of them I promised not to post yet (long story, not really, but it's boring) and the other is just a vague idea until probably next week. Hopefully next week.
Which leaves me with nothing, which isn't all that horrible because I have everyday life to talk about, and this week I've been salivating for opportunities to talk about it, if only because misery (that's me) has a voracious appetite for company.
And all because I had a little cold.
No really, I had a 48-hour bug, and for, like, the first 24 of those hours I thought I was going to die. There I would be, curled up in a little ball, unmedicated (except for Tylenol--because baby--which wasn't really helping) and exhausted (because baby) and with a monster headache (oooh, can you guess why? oh that's right, because baby). Kind of like a little bug that curls in on itself as it's dying and dries out with its body in what appears to be a convulsion of pain. That's what I was feeling like.
Yes, I am a big baby.
In my defense, past history has convinced me that when I get sick I succumb to a week-long nightmare of fevers and gloom, which maybe means I only used to get sick if I got the flu, I don't know. Turns out I am capable of getting the only-2-day kind of sick as well. Whether that's because I'm more susceptible now that I am not sleeping any more or because somehow my immune system is better at eradicating colds once they show up now, who can say. I'm just happy that it didn't last long.
But I didn't know this on Monday in the middle of feeling like the whole world was swimming glassily in front of my eyes. Maybe I just get colds worse than other people do, or maybe I'm really that much of a wuss about illness. (Though to balance out, I'm a beast when it comes to pain.)
Anyway, here was where I faced what is probably a defining moment for all mothers. And this isn't the first time I've faced this sort of moment, but it was the most extreme. It was that moment when every single cell in my body wanted only one thing--to be completely and exclusively selfish. And instead I got up, picked up my son, and took care of him.
And I didn't even ask for a superhero cape.
Seriously though, rock on, moms. All babies have highs and lows. Some are harder than others, but I'm going to make a guess that at some point or another every baby is needy at the worst possible moment. And even though it's the last thing you want to do, you get up and do what's necessary.
And hey, on the flip side, sometimes the babies turn the cute factor up way high, and then it all kind of balances. Like just now. Just now my baby started singing and dancing to the beat of me shaking his rattle, and it was about the most adorable thing ever (until next week when he will do something even cuter and shatter all previous cuteness records).
So yeah, next time I'm sick and miserable, remind me that there is cuteness on its way.
Only don't do that, because I really am a big baby when it comes to being sick and I will probably just want to punch your face.