The Cheese for my Whine

I assume people are getting sick of my whining about morning sickness. I assume as much because I am getting sick of my own whining. Sadly, I think God is sick of it, too, because Saturday I was struck with an illness the likes of which I have not seen for many a year. I think it was His way of saying, "Okay, you big baby. You think you're miserable? I'll show you miserable."

His prescription:
Day One and Two: A throat so sore I avoided talking. (That means it was really sore.)

Day Three and Four: Congestion that caused dry lips from all that mouth breathing and a raw and chapped nose from constant blowing. Body aches and headaches that triggered crazy thoughts about disconnecting some parts of said body. A fever that made my eyeballs feel hot. Chills. And coughing that triggered my gag reflex.

I was pretty sexy as you can imagine.

Day Five: Renewed gratitude for simple nausea. Complete happiness regarding minor things like unencumbered breathing, the physical ability to bathe, dress and do dishes. Joy in going outside, and appreciating the energy to play with my kids. And most importantly: No more whining.

I get it already!

P.S. I have amazing friends who brought me food, Tylenol cold medicine (doctor approved of course), cleaned my house, and let my children come over to play. I would never, ever whine about you! You all are the best!!!

Will the Real Laurel Please Stand Up? Soon?

Things I Haven't Done in the last three weeks:

1. Blogged
2. Read a book
3. Made my bed
4. Put on makeup voluntarily
5. Spent an entire day without crawling onto the couch and curling into the fetal position at some point

I am not myself. But I hope to return to myself shortly. Please be patient. I know I said I'd stop talking about this stuff, but I can't be creative right now. My brain does not seem to be functioning appropriately.

Waiting...Impatiently

When I was 18 I had my tonsils taken out. While I am forever grateful for the improved health I have enjoyed since, I would not wish to repeat the experience. Ever. It was agony! The morning after the operation I felt like my throat was punctured with a thousand knives while set on fire. However, the eight year old, with whom I shared not only the same room but also the same procedure, was chomping down her Jell-o with ease. It was one of the rare times in my life when I felt true envy. I couldn't do Jell-0 or even suck on a popsicle. Actually, I avoided swallowing my own saliva. Impossible to do, by the way. But the doctor assured me that in two weeks I would be better.

I vividly remember the morning when the two weeks were up. I opened my eyes, did a test swallow, and winced in pain. Two weeks my ever lovin' arse!! Man, was I angry! I felt like I had been a pretty good sport up until then, but now I stomped downstairs, plopped onto the couch and moped. At some point my brother and sister-in-law stopped by and snickered at my foul, dark mood. I just gave them the evil eye. I was in no mood.

You know what that time of my life has in common with my current reality? I'm tempted to mope. I'm really tired of feeling yucky. But as I keep reminding myself: We paid a lot of money for me to feel this miserable.

Besides, it gets better, right? Right?!