Note to self: Do not talk schmack about sick husband.
I’m feeling soooo crappy this morning. After weeks of bragging and rolling my eyes at Caleb’s snotty nose, I too, have finally really come down with the cold I thought I could never get. My head hurts, my throat hurts, my ears tickle…stupid, good-for-nothing prenatal vitamins.
It’s been a busy week–Tuesday Mia had 3 more cavities filled. Yesterday, Mia, Merrick and I took Darcy to the vet–fun. And today Mia is going back to the dentist to have the brown lines on her teeth fixed. I know I said it didn’t matter, but that was before kids started teasing her about her "rotten teeth", and before I knew that insurance would cover it. So there you have it. We’ll see what they can do.
I’ve also been thinking about having a laughing gas station installed in the house somewhere, in a cozy corner with a comfy chair. There are oxygen bars in big cities; why can’t we have laughing gas? It’d be great. Maybe we’ll even throw in the oxygen option. No one will ever be in a bad mood again.
Merrick had a total meltdown last night. He wouldn’t even breastfeed–and that’s normally a surefire way to get him to stop crying. (Most men never really change, do they?) I was so frustrated I felt like putting my head through the wall. In a moment of panic I called Caleb, who was down the street helping a neighbor lift something heavy, and used my most ferocious devil-voice: "I need you home NOW!"
And of course, exactly 2 seconds before Caleb walked in the door, Merrick calmed down. Instantly. He not only calmed down, he went right to sleep–and he stayed asleep until 6:30 a.m., only to wake up and eat a little bit before dozing off again. When he gets up I’m going to ask him, "What the hell, son?"
I knew it was only a matter of time before he and I had our moment. Note to self: Do not talk schmack about having "an angel for a baby" ever again. Ever. Again.