Influenza

Ireland got it first, then Brigitta, then Liesel and then me. After two days of wiping noses and calling in school absences, I felt a tickle in my throat. By morning I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. One of the perks of being far away in Chicago is all of this skips Brent. Just when I was starting to feel better from 2.5 months of first trimester misery I get slammed with the flu. I asked Brent if I was a glutton for punishment because it feels like I just can't catch a break. He admitted it certainly seems that way.

Our nightly ritual of stories and dance parties has been replaced with administering medicine, rubbing Vaporub on feet and chests, slathering dry and cracked lips with chapstick and warming milk to soothe sore throats. Taking care of Ireland is particularly heartbreaking for me. Because she inherited my asthma tendencies, any tiny cold turns into a bout of that lovely little disease. I remember hating the inhaler when I was a kid and forcing it on her while she grimaces and tries to pull away just makes me want to cry.

Doing all of this alone has been as horrible as you might imagine. The few times I've managed to connect with Brent, all he can do is sympathize over the phone. Call me crazy but I've occasionally gotten the impression that he's trying to multitask while I lament my situation. Then I feel bad that he doesn't even have time to hear me complain and the loneliness sets in even deeper and darker than it was before I called.

I had to take the girls to the store today. Had to. We're on our last rolls of toilet paper and Liesel has diarrhea. We're quickly running out of medicine for both the girls and myself, so we needed to restock before I have a middle of the night crisis on my hands. I thought I'd give the girls a break from their BRAT diet and grab lunch at Chick-fil-a. Liesel and Ireland only ate 1 chicken nugget each. Typically they scarf those down but there they sat, glassy-eyed, staring at the little lumps of chicken in front of them. Ireland finally told me she was saving hers for Daddy and I knew it was useless to push it. Brigitta played with my car keys and repeatedly dropped them on the floor. Picking them up hurt. Carrying her on my hip (which is much lighter than carrying her in her car seat) hurt. I hurt all over. If someone offered me a massage I'd refuse because my body feels completely bruised and broken.

Oddly enough, the girls looked adorable in spite of their ailments. The fever made their cheeks rosy and of course their lips are bright red from the dryness and licking. They opted to wear their tulle pink skirts and white tank tops since it was 90 degrees out. I leaned on the shopping cart for support as I threw in the items from my list. One older woman smiled at the girls. As she briskly walked by me she chirped, "Enjoy them while they're little!" I very nearly fell to my knees and bawled my eyes out right there next to the kitty litter. Just surviving the day with everyone intact is SUCH a Herculean task and she had the nerve to throw one more impossible thing onto my to do list. As it was, I just held back the tears as I looked for the best deal on toilet paper.