Rowan has hand foot and mouth disease. And being Rowan, he doesn’t have it just a little, he is absolutely covered in blisters. Face, arms, hands, butt, legs, feet. He’s been out of daycare all week, and I am so freaking over it.
Everyone once in awhile I get a new influx of Facebook fans and I go hunt down the source because it always means that something has been shared somewhere important. Last week the culprit was my post over on the Today Parenting Team, which was shared by both the Kathie Lee and Hoda Facebook page, and also the Today Show Facebook page. Then it was on the front page of Today.com.
Remember how I wrote that “The Dishes Can Wait and Other Lies” essay? And how I put it up on HuffPost and people who must have had an unfortunate accident as a child that removed both their sarcasm gland and sense of humor took me way too literally and seriously? The best was that they went both extremes. Some took it to mean that my house was a complete disaster all of the time, and that there were ants everywhere, because all I did was take the “they’re only young once” advice to heart. And then some people were sure that my house was perfectly clean, because I was shunning that advice entirely.
This past weekend was our annual Mother’s Day friend camping trip. We go camping with this group of people at least a couple of times per year, and usually one of those times is Mother’s Day weekend. Except for last year, what with the premature birth.
Oh my gah. Rowan decided to up the ante on the whole ear infection thing and get two ear infections and pneumonia. Pneufreakingmonia. We were supposed to leave for a trip to DC on Friday night, but Thursday we ended up back at the pediatrician’s office for the second time that week when he cried for 12 hours straight. He had O2 sats in the low 90s, and after two rounds of nebulizer was still crackly, though his saturation was better.
I had planned a lovely birthday post for/about Lorelei today, but instead I got Mastitis.
Have you ever had Mastitis? If so,
My particular brand of anxiety likes to zero on a fear of being misunderstood or saying things incorrectly with no way to amend. The OCD part of my brain will (un)happily explain, correct, and fix these mistakes repeatedly in my head while the more rational piece tries to let go. The inside of my skull is a big cartoon dust cloud with random arms and legs flying around as I fight with myself. It’s friends with the part of me that is terrified I’m not very good at things, and they both interact with the piece that sees complements as just climbing higher up the edge of a cliff.