Kitty Cat is sick.
Not the kind of sick where her nose is stuffy and maybe she's a little warm.
The kind of sick where she takes a drink of 7-Up and barfs. Takes another drink of 7-Up and barfs. Takes another drink of 7-Up and barfs.
And then I take away the 7-Up.
The kind of sick where she's singeing the bed covers with fever.
The kind of sick where she just lies on my bed, or the couch, staring at the ceiling.
The kind of sick where she's missing school for the week which means it's Mommy Time for me day and night.
Yesterday I was full of healthy optimism that she'd kick this thing's ass! And fast! Some 7-Up and Saltines and she'd be on her way back to preschool by Thursday. I wore decent clothes and sat with her on the bed, then bustled around doing laundry and chores, then sat with her some more.
But this morning, at around 7, after three hours of diving for Kitty Cat's barf bowl and fetching her sips of water while sleeping in snatches, Fruit Bat woke us with a ukulele serenade.
This morning, at around 7, I was bleary and headachy and IRATE. I snarled and cried and slammed a few doors. Just another hour of sleep was all I wanted. Was what I felt I DESERVED. And it took every ounce of my restraint not to smash his beloved ukulele to tiny bits.
Not my finest mothering moment. Or human moment for that matter.
And now I'm in sweats, my brain operating as though clogged with bits of soggy cardboard, just wanting some time where I don't have to nurture anyone.
Why can't I just make it through one bad week and think: Yeah, this sucks. But it's just one week. You can set aside your stupid manuscript-that-no-one-will-ever-buy for one week, let the chores go and focus on what's really important: your child's health. For. One. Week.
Why does my child's sickness bring out the worst in me?