when it rains, it pours
And I mean that literally, because it is still raining.
I've noticed lately that I don't just have bad days, but I have bad weeks. One bad day, and I can be certain that things won't look up for at least a week or two. That sounds pessimistic, which is not how I am by nature, but that's just how things seem to go. Whenever a day starts to go rapidly downhill, I brace myself.
Thursday was the worst kind of day, but I had a brief reprieve from the madness on Friday. My dearest friend came into town bearing a bag of delicious cookies. We watched movies and ate pizza and played with Gracie. It was an absolutely perfect day and desperately needed. I don't even know the last time I had that much fun. Gracie even called her "mama" and wouldn't let me rock her before her nap (which she refused to take), only Joellen, her new mother. We watched the inauguration together, laughing at the fact that Kellyanne Conway was wearing a hat almost identical to Gracie's.
On Saturday, I woke up feeling off. I rallied, though, and we went on a family walk to the park that was all fun and games until it was time to leave. Gracie refused to be parted from the swing and we had to carry her all the way home while she screamed bloody murder. Whenever we put her down, she tried to run back to the swing. By evening, I was feeling gross again but attributed it to the intense marijuana smell filling the downstairs. We had to call it an early night because my eyes, nose, and throat were on fire from the smell, even with the windows open. We've been patrolling the building every night trying to figure out who it is and simultaneously pestering the office to the point they're probably going to evict us out of pure annoyance.
I woke up with an upset stomach Sunday morning, feeling completely exhausted. I've been fighting insomnia since Christmas. I believe I've had only two or three good nights of sleep in a month. It's like having a newborn again, except there isn't a reason for waking up every hour on the dot or not falling asleep until 2. I'm the kind of person who requires 8-9 hours of uninterrupted sleep a night to feel human, so you can imagine how much this is wearing me down. I haven't felt like myself in weeks. After a series of complications, we made it to church 15 minutes late. Gracie went into the nursery like a champ, but not 20 minutes later I had a text saying she was completely inconsolable and I needed to go get her.
I went to go grab her and calm her down, and it was clear I would not be able to leave her again without her world ending. As I was holding her while she tried to stop hyperventilating, I found out that one kid in the nursery had RSV, and a little girl who had been close to Gracie had a stomach bug. There is nothing that angers me more than parents who unnecessarily take their sick children in public. Obviously you can't help it sometimes, but putting a highly contagious child in the church nursery? There is no excuse for that. I was livid. I hauled Gracie out as fast as I could since she was screaming for James and I didn't want to expose her to any more germs. She was so upset we wound up having to leave church early. I know church is a good and important thing, but sometimes it just doesn't feel worth the stress.
I ranted and raved all day about the sick kids in the nursery. If Gracie gets sick, I'll get sick, and James works nonstop and I will be stuck all day unable to take care of us. I was panicked. Remember last fall when I had 4 horrible viruses in a row? Gracie wasn't even sick, but I was for two months straight, and those were the hardest months I've had since I was pregnant.
We got home, and Gracie refused to nap. My condition worsened as the day went on, and I found myself curled up in bed so exhausted I couldn't think straight with a raging upset stomach. Maybe the little girl in the nursery wasn't the only one with a stomach bug. My one consolation was that James was miraculously only scheduled to work one night this week. By the power of Winnie the Pooh and Daniel Tiger, I would be able to get through the day if he could be here to do dinner, bath, and bedtime.
After putting Gracie to bed, James walked in the room and told me he had just gotten a text from his boss that she needs him to work three longs days in a row. That's three 14 hours days in a row. Basically three days where we won't see him and I'll have no help no matter how awful I'm feeling. I burst into tears so severely that the next time I saw him, an 30 minutes later, he handed me two boxes, one with a slice of cheesecake and one with chocolate cake. Normally I run and hide in the arms of chocolate when I feel like the world is ending, but this kerfuffle was strictly meant for cheesecake. And it was the perfect thing to eat during a lull of stomach pains while watching the season 2 premiere of Mercy Street.
I woke up this morning feeling the same, probably because I was up every hour on the dot again last night, dreaming of politics. Cleaning up Gracie's diaper leakage in the crib this morning also didn't help matters. I've been so weak and shaky I can't do much, but whenever I have a burst of energy, I've been sanitizing everything and changing the sheets in an effort to keep the rest of the family safe. I'm starting to feel a little better, and I hope I'm on the mend. The stomach bug has been going around here, and while this was a mild case, it was still awful.
Gracie and I were playing with her dollhouse this morning (read: she was playing and I was curled up in the fetal position), and she put the mama doll on the toilet and said "mama potty! mama potty!" over and over. Which is a pretty accurate representation of the last few days.
Please pray for sleep and good health, if you think of it. Feel free to send more cheesecake, too.