My Family Has The Plague

Yes, we have The Plague. Or something else equally horrible, because whatever else would have kept me from writing witticisms daily? Seriously, I have a cold. Anaya- aka Typhoid Mary- has a cold. Avery is teething. All in all, pretty typical health conditions down here on the farm.

You may ask, why is Anaya Typhoid Mary? Because if there is something to be caught, you can guarantee that Anaya will get it, malinger, and spread it to the whole house. She gets affectionate when she's ill, and spreads the love and the germs all over the place. Between her, Avery's general bitchiness (yes, I called my one year old a Bitch, get over it. She is a bitch.), and my moments of fever induced madness, I attempt to sleep.

What sucks is that while everyone else in the house gets babied when they're sick, no one babies me. When my husband is sick, I get him water and cold pills. What does he do for me? He tells me "babe, don't breathe on me, I have 500 scrapbookers in the hotel this week and can't afford to get sick." He doesn't even get me water with the right ice cubes (I like the cubes, not the crushed ice in water, if we were talking about soda, I'd want the crushed, it's not too difficult to remember). I had to get up at 4:00 AM this morning when the older two, for reasons unknown to the rest of the world, decided to put band-aids all over themselves. No amount of kicking would wake my husband, so I needed to break up the little bathroom party that they were throwing.

That brings us to the insight of the day- Dammit, I deserve to be babied when I'm sick too.