Today is the FOURTEENTH DAY for us to have the flu.
That, folks, is a long time.
The good news is that Peter’s temperature is finally dropping down to below 100 without medication, and he appears to be feeling better. The bad news is that he’s not yet fever-free and will be home with me tomorrow. Again.
Please don’t get me wrong – I love my kids. But fourteen days is a LOT of together time.
I’ve tried to mix it up a little, take walks to the park and have movie night and game night. But I have to admit – I’m ready for a break.
My highlights have all grown out. My bangs are hanging down into my eyes. I’ve stopped trying to style my hair and have resorted to clipping it back like I used to do when I was 12. My two eyebrows are beginning to resemble a unibrow. The paint on my toenails has peeled off.
Let’s just say I’m badly in need of a spa day. In fact, when I told my mom, she thought I might need to book a whole weekend. <Grin>
But all of that is nothing compared to my psyche.
Let’s just say I’m craving some grown-up conversation, the kind that doesn’t start with “Mommy…can I?”
I’m all tapped out. The glass is not half empty – it’s bone dry. And there’s not a thing I can do about it because, well, there’s apparently not enough money in my bank account to bride anyone to babysit a sick kid.
So I’m looking forward with great anticipation to Brad’s day off on Friday. I’m going to get a pedicure. I’m going to get my hair done. I’m going to the mall. I may even go see a movie. Alone.
If I happen to run into you and you have your child with you, please forgive me for pretending I don’t know you and walking the other direction. It’s not you – I promise. It’s your child. I am bound and determined to have a day off and that means no one under 3 feet is allowed to enter my personal space. Period.