I’m sitting here in my bathroom. The morning rays from our beloved sun shining in on me, charging my melanin, giving me life. I’ve been sitting here several minutes. Why are you hanging out in the bathroom recharging? Well thanks for asking. I am on the run. There is a little person and another VERY little person downstairs and apparently they don’t feel well. Neither of them have instruction manuals nor are they articulate enough to communicate what their true issues are. So I’m hiding. The Prince who is just shy of two months old had the nerve to have a fever last night that magically disappeared this morning, but not before causing me to go into a full panic. Pretty sure my eyelids stayed open all night, watching him as if I were equipped with temperature monitoring vision. Then there’s the 7 year old who’s tummy is hurting AGAIN. And while I’m sure its only constipation because she’s picky and weird and refuses to eat fruit, I made the mistake of googling pediatric stomach ache. So now I have to keep a look out for appencitis or just plain old bloating.
My bathroom, while it usually offers peace and solace, is actually adding fuel to my already five alarm fireball of stress. There’s a pile of my husband’s dirty laundry in front of my soaking tub. It’s annoying. His counter is littered with everything from beard hair to contact solution, toothpaste, and whatever else. It’s annoying. This is after he managed to get sleep last night….every night for that matter while I toil over how much I may have failed as a mother with two sick children in my bed. It’s quite annoying. I feel like shit, look like shit and so does my house. I wish I could teleport into an old school Calgon commercial and be taken away.