Posts from — February 2008

Sending your child off to school in underpants for the first time ever after a weekend of underpant wearing that was, oh, seventy-five percent successful feels a little bit like shoving him out of a plane with a parachute that opens only three-fourths of the time. Good luck, kid.

Geronimo.

But let’s face facts, folks. Fact #1: if he doesn’t wear diapers anymore, then we don’t have to BUY them anymore, and that is a win-win as far as I’m concerned. Fact #2: He’s nowhere near being the last kid in his class to get his name on the “Uses Potty” list in the bathroom, but even so, my competitive side comes out a weensy bit when another parent says casually, “Oh, Bug’s not using the toilet yet? Archibald has been potty trained since 2 and 1/2!” GREAT. I’M SO HAPPY FOR HIM. Of course he also looks like GOLLUM and his diet consists mainly of BOOGERS.

Diaper-Free Day at School #1 was moderately successful though. They only had to change his pants once. So I guess his parachute didn’t quite open, but he survived the fall. He must have landed on something nice and squishy and soft, like some shrubbery. Or maybe Archibald.

Yesterday was golden.

Now, I realize that the three previous days consisted entirely of lying greasy-headed in sweat-soaked pajamas on the couch, propping myself up from horizontal just long enough to force down 6400mg of ibuprofen and a penicillin tablet followed with an Xtreme Grape! juice box chaser, but nonetheless. Yesterday. Golden.

A friend took Bug to church while Lorso went in to work to make up some hours from the day he stayed home to mop my fevered brow. And get me Gatorade. And write my blog post. And take care of Bug. And end world hunger. Ok, he didn’t actually get to that last one, but he actually MOPPED MY FEVERED BROW. Can abolishing world hunger be far behind?

So I was home alone for four and a half blissful hours. I shuffled around! I washed my sheets! I washed my hair! I shuffled around some more! It was awesome.

And when Bug returned from church and lunch, he walked right in the door and handed me a flower. “I got you a flower, Mama. It’s your favorite color.” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

“He found it in the parking lot of the restaurant, on the ground,” my friend said, half apologetically. It was flat as a pancake, missing petals and partly dead. But by golly, it was pink. “I love it, Bug. Thank you. And I am feeling better.” He smiled, turned, went in his room, closed the door, turned off the light, and then PUT HIMSELF DOWN FOR A NAP. I am not making this up.

He slept for three hours, too, and in those three hours I had two really great conversations – one with my friend that brought Bug home, and after she left, one with the Lorso. I like talking to the Lorso.

He and I finally woke Bug up from his nap and then the three of us went to dinner to celebrate the fact that I appeared to be human again. And although there isn’t anything of substance that I can write about our meal at the restaurant, it was just one of those times. One of those instances where you feel like everything around you stops and you look around at what you have and who you have and you think, this is all I need. And the music from the speakers is like a soundtrack to that moment, and it’s perfect.

We drove home in the rain and we played the game Raise Your Hand If, which is highly popular among the three year old crowd. This time was the first time Bug volunteered to ask the questions however, and the game was instantly catapulted from amusing to Best Game Ever.

“Raise your hand if you were a tiny baby in your Mommy’s belly before you were born!” he yelled with glee. “Raise your hand if you have a face!”

For Bug, the game’s the most fun when everyone gets to raise a hand.

At home the game continued, the three of us on the couch taking turns asking the questions, and I thought about how I felt so euphoric, so filled up. Was it just because I was so miserably, awfully sick and now I felt like myself again? Was it because I finally had a meal that required chewing? Maybe. But I hope it was more than that. Because it felt like more than that.

“Raise your hand if you love your Mommy!” Bug shouted to end our game, leaping to his feet on the cushion beside me, arms already outstretched, both hands waving high above my head.

Golden.

Dry Hacking Cough
North Throat and Chest Area
Rachel’s Body, The World

February 17, 2008

Dear Mr. Cough,

Thank you for taking the time to apply for the position of Chief Irritant here at Rachel’s Body, LLC. We greatly appreciate your interest in joining our team.

We received a large number of applications from various Irritants for this position. It is our top priority to select a candidate who best matches the skills and experience required to excel and really take Rachel’s body out of commission while in this position. While we were impressed with your qualifications, after careful consideration we decided to go with Streptococcus Bacterium, whose strong record of knocking Bodies on their Ass is long and proven.

Please note that your resume will be kept on file for 6 months, and we may contact you in the event that there is another position we feel you are qualified for such as Sick Day Excuse Officer.

In the meantime, please refrain from contacting The Body by sending tickles and quivers in the chest. We will call you if a position becomes vacant.

We wish you the best of luck in your continued job search and future endeavors.

Sincerely,

The Team
Rachel’s Body, LLC

Wednesday night just before bed, I thought, “Gee willikers! My throat kind of hurts a little bit!” But went to bed, not thinking much of it.

Thursday morning I woke up and thought, “HOLY. SHIT. THROAT. HURTS.” See how illness robs me of all my good graces?

So I took a flashlight and peered into the abyss, and saw what looked like a Petri dish that someone forgot in a warm corner of the biology lab. And that is all the describing I will do of that, in case you like to read Yestertime leisurely while enjoying your lunch.

Luckily my sister was available not only to take Bug to school but also to substitute for me, which I think really does now take her out of contention for People I Can Reasonably Hope Will Give Me a Kidney Should I Ever Need One. I was willing to take that risk though.

When I got to the doctor, a minor miracle in and of itself – I got off the couch, put shoes on, and drove myself there – I was really feeling scummy. I think my fever was peaking right then, and it was clear to me that I looked like I had the plague, because everyone in the waiting room sat as far away from me as humanly possible, shifting uneasily in their chairs and casting nervous sideways glances at me. Now that I think about it, it was probably because I was physically restraining myself from moaning out loud, and I think sometimes I was unsuccessful at this endeavor.

I finally got called back to a room and the nurse chastised me for not wearing a coat (I had layers on, including a sweatshirt and a scarf, ok Mom?) and spoke to me as if I were about 5 or 6, which I LOVE, by the way. And by love I mean hate. So right after she left the room, just to prove to myself that I was in fact a grown up and not 6 years old, I burst into tears. I was still crying when the door opened and in came my doctor and a fourth year med student FROM MY MED SCHOOL came in. No! It wasn’t awkward at all, why do you ask? Honestly though, my dignity was long gone by then, what with the moaning in the waiting room and the sobbing, and the fact that I was wearing my pajamas and all.

So they checked me out, swabbed my throat, declared it STREP THROAT in about 2 seconds and gave me my prescription and I was on my way.

I guess I haven’t had strep throat in a really long time. I used to get it a lot as a kid. But I know it wasn’t as bad as this. If it was, then either I have become a really big pansy in my adulthood or I was one tough-ass kid. Because this strep throat thing SUCKS. Yesterday I would wake up long enough to take my penicillin and some painkillers and then think, “Wait what was I doing? Oh, right…zzzzzzz.” Pretty much I did that all day long.

So today is an improvement! I sit up! I type! I open my eyes for long stretches of time! I’m almost a real person again.

Now if I could only figure out where I got this nasty bug from. Maybe it was from the kid who sneezed in my mouth. Or maybe the kid who stuck his drooly fingers up my nose. Or maybe the kid who spit on me. Or maybe the kid who used me as a Kleenex. Or maybe the kid who licked my face.

Probably the Face-Licker. That kid has had it out for me since Day One.

It’s a beautiful day. A bit chilly, but not as cold as it’s been around here lately, and sunny! Sunny enough to play outside in the backyard with Bug. And not so cold that a light jacket and a quick game of catch don’t suffice to keep you warm. In fact, I could almost feel spring coming round the seasonal corner – if it wasn’t February in Atlanta. In February, in Atlanta, Friday’s 60 degree high holds very little meaning for Saturday – whose preferred temperature may or may not be 50, give or take twelve degrees (F).

And so, in Atlanta, in February, this is just the sort of day I hate to miss for having a desk job. Also, it’s exactly the kind of day on which one would most dislike having strep throat. Unfortunately, that makes it a day which I would very much enjoy spending at home with Bug, if it weren’t for the fact that Rachel has been knocked senseless and bedridden by strep throat.

Still, it is nice to be at home on a Friday. Bug and I have enjoyed watching The Electric Company, reading books (he brought me five), and throwing a ball in the backyard. Breakfast has become an early morning ritual for us, but this is the first weekday in a while that we’ve had a chance to share lunch. And after he wakes from his nap, we plan to visit the local hardware store to pick up new sand for the backyard sandbox. That is – after his nap, and after we dose Rachel up with another 600 – 800 mg of ibuprofin.

With any luck, Atlanta will surprise us with another beautiful day tomorrow, and Rachel will be feeling well enough to enjoy it.

In the meantime, Bug keeps bringing things to his Momma to help her feel better. Pink things, mostly. Last night, it was a pink post-it note with his name on it. This morning, it was a pink, gummy heart from the bag of Valentine’s day candy he brought home from school. Apparently pink is not only Momma’s favorite color, but is also possessed of some unspoken and innate medicinal quality. Gradually, what with the penicillin, the sleep, the Advil, the sleep, the Theraflu, the sleep, and the occasional pink gift, Rachel does seem to be feeling better.