In the past two weeks, Dwight and I are the only ones who have not been afflicted by some kind of malady. While I am grateful that I’ve stayed relatively healthy amid the pestilence, it has stuck me with the job of nursemaid. I would really do anything to help my family heal quickly and feel better. At least, that’s how I feel when I’m well-rested.
Tonight I am officially burned out. One minor surgery, one high fever, one low fever, one medium fever, a double ear infection, pinkeye, and a viral rash can really wear on a gal. And that’s saying nothing of the many, many, many sleepless nights, after most of which I have to get up and go to work the next day.
I think this is probably a common mom complaint. When you’re taking care of everyone, who is taking care of you? Anybody? Bueller?
I realize that this blog post is mostly complaining — my apologies. A chance to sit on the deck and read a book uninterrupted and a good night’s sleep will erase this complaining immediately. That won’t happen tonight, and probably not tomorrow night. I’m saying a prayer to the sleep and penicillin gods that all will be well by Friday. Or Dwight and I might move into the shed.