I'm as bad as I feel

I spent most of today trying to locate a part of me, however remote, that doesn't ache.

Left little toenail?

Aches.

Right earlobe?

Aches.

Hair on the back of my left knee?

Aches.

Freckle on the end of my nose?

Aches.

Ahhhh ... choo. Flu season has come early to the palace, and with it the strong desire to never open my eyes again. All that light! And the air feels so heavy. It presses down on every pore.

Most of the time, it feels like every tissue in my body is dissolving into plasma mush, and the molecules are furiously rearranging themselves. I can feel it. There's a whole lot of activity going on at the cellular level, and it's bugging me. Knock it off! Either kill me or go away already. Sheesh.

As bad as I have it, it's much worse for the poor little monsterling, who's been sick since Thursday night. He's one big, green goober, huddling in front of "The Lion King" DVD until I've deconstructed the entire plot forward and backward and sworn to hunt down Michael Eisner and make him pay, dammit.

Provided I eventually get better, of course, which right now doesn't seem likely.

In the midst of all this fell Plosh's 41st birthday, which Minitaur celebrated by not sleeping. At all.

And I, trying to outdo my previous record for bad wifeliness, not only forgot to order Plosh's birthday present on time, but sent him off to work that day without so much as a goodbye kiss. I had to actually call him to sheepishly say, "Happy Birthday."

Someone at work made him brownies -- now how d'ya think that made me feel? I didn't even offer to make him a sandwich.

And now this: the flu. Plosh has been Super Dad, remaining motionless for an hour or more while Minitaur slept against his shoulder. Plosh fixed him meals and force-fed him Motrin and struggled to make sense of what Minitaur's trying to say between frantic sobs.

Me, I'm doing this. Not sure how much longer I can sit upright. Maybe I can just rest my tired, aching head on this comfy-looking keyboard. bnbvtg8cderfx5gtytfgyhbnjuikmyhgt6hfzzzzzzz ...

On the plus side, I now don't need a flu shot.

Comments

[plosh]

Uh, there can be more than one flu per season and ever since we've had Seth we've been averaging three!

[andrew]

I too have some nasty viral thing, whether severe cold or mild flu I know not. It's the immediate payback for returning to work and public transport.

I normally knock off a cold in a single evening by the sensible tactic of sitting up too late and drinking a lot of whisky. Unfortunately, this time I either misjudged the severity of the illness or, more likely, consumed an immodest amount of whisky; the bottle sure looked a lot lighter the next day. The upshot was that I had nausea and dizziness to add to my list of symptoms.

I'd say that we live and learn, but I don't.

The only good thing is that despite my stress, illness and excess, I somehow look younger and healthier than I have for years.

You will get better. Whisky, in something approximating moderation, is helpful. I do feel for you, all of you.

Oh yeah, don't stress about Plosh's birthday: guys kinda expect that after the arrival of kids, they pretty much need to look after themselves.

[plosh]

Indeed.

[Anne]

Sorry to hear you're under the weather, Andrew. I'm pretty sure it wasn't us, though, Australia's a bit out of sneezing distance for us.

And I feel no pity whatsoever for you guys. I am SICK and who is home with the kidlet? Moi. I have to be cheerful and think up fun things to do and prepare meals and do all this Mommy crap when all I want to do is find a convenient hole and DIE.

Ugh. Am going to soak my head in the toilet now.

[plosh]

Five minutes in our toilet bowl will kill you.