My Imaginary Memoir Will Be Titled, “Well, It Could Have Been Worse….”

When something shitty happens, it is inevitable that someone is going to tell you to be grateful for whatever is less than shitty. I get it, I do. My imaginary memoir is titled, “Well, It Could Have Been Worse….” But sometimes I just want to wallow a little bit in the unfairness of things that are, well, unfuckingfair.

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Inconsolable irony of Breathing

Rowan is sick. Again. I remember well the welcome-to-daycare series of plagues, but for Rowan a regular cold seems to turn into something more. This is the third time I’ve taken him in for coughing, with the second time being the dreaded RSV and hospital admission. I think he has had more sick visits in the eight months since his hospital discharge than Lorelei has in her entire six years. He’s on his second ear infection, and we’ve gone through almost an entire box of Xoponex nebulizer treatments. He spent hours last night screaming inconsolably.

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