I have been feeling… funny lately. Almost like I’m entering menopause, except for God’s sake I’m only 31. But I have the hot flashes and the chills and nausea and strange abdominal aching and sweats and headaches and fatigue and lack of appetite and all sorts of various maladies that make it just miserable to be alive. If I didn’t know better I’d think I was knocked up again.
But let’s be serious.
I left work a whole 15 minutes early yesterday, wondering how in the hell I was going to care for a rambunctious two-year-old while also not yakking all over the place and preferably not exerting any more energy than what it takes to press buttons on the television remote.
So R and I got home, let the dogs out, took our coats off and hung them up. I got her a snack and some juice and asked her if she wanted to go upstairs with Mommy. She loves Mommy very much lately, and enthusiastically agreed to the plan. I grabbed her Strawberry Shortcake blanket and plopped her on the bed with the remote in her hands while I changed out of my clothes and into my new Victoria’s Secret pajamas.
When I finally settled myself next to her, she giggled and snuggled me close. When I explained that Mommy didn’t feel well, she asked, “Mommy sick?” When I answered in the affirmative, my little Florence Nightengale went to work. She stripped the comforter off me and covered me with her blanket. She began brushing my hair with her fingers and murmuring, “Mommy sick.” She offered me her juice.
An hour later when her daddy got home, that’s where he found us, snuggled together in our bed. Sometimes all you need is a little tender loving care.
Claudia has tagged me… I’m working on it, I promise!