It's been a rough week. This year I've had more colds than ever before in my life. When I look through pictures of the last year, I can help but think, 'That's when I felt deathly ill' or 'That's when I had a stomach virus' or 'That's when I could barely get out of bed.' I've been telling friends, 'I promise I'm not a hypochondriac, I am really just actually sick again.' I'm told that's par for the course when you have a little one; they catch germs and pass them on to mama through copious amounts of smooches. But I don't know, this seems a little over the top. I'm going to try some all-natural immune-building stuff to see if that helps.
This past week has been the worst; I've been fighting extreme fatigue (the kind that no amount of sleep can assuage) and on Saturday morning I woke up with stabbing pains in my lungs. On Sunday morning I went to the E.R. because I still had them and I was diagnosed with pleurisy, which is a bacterial infection in the lungs. Then, on Monday, I fell down my friggin' stairs. I was so concentrated on protecting Tessa, who was in my arms, that I fell like a ton of bricks right on my tailbone.
The great irony of my life is that when I need sleep the most I can't get it. Yesterday, after tossing and turning all night, I woke up feeling like an 85-year-old woman on barbiturates so I called my mom and asked her to please take Tessa for the day. My mom is great and so she did. And I lay in bed all day reading this addictive book, and then swiped Nekos up for work and he and I ended up having the most perfect impromptu dinner date at Whiskey Kitchen. I am on the mend, I do believe!
Here are some crappy Blackberry pics of my little superstar (a.k.a. the perfect antidote to any sickness) this past week.
|Playing with my eyelash curler and headbands.|
|Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.|
|Jessica Seinfeld's spaghetti pie -- so dang good. Nekos says, "Best spaghetti ever."|
|Tess liked it too, even though it had broccoli and carrots in it.|
|Tess sleeping on me. Kill me now, I am in heaven.|
|In her beloved swing, wearing her new outfit from Aunt Molly.|
|Playing with my makeup. Not trying to push anything on her prematurely |
because I don't care if she's the tomboy of all tomboys, but it appears I may
have a girly-girl on my hands.