I've been having a pretty crappy week because I have a really bad cold that started late Sunday evening, thankfully AFTER I had spent a lovely Mother's Day with my lovely mother.
Monday was my last scheduled furlough day for this school-year, which kind of sucks because I don't get paid for it, and I spent the whole day sitting around at home coughing and blowing my nose and battling a sore throat.
Tuesday I was still sick, but went to work anyway because the Librarian and I had already planned for me to take about 6 boxes of donated old books to the used book store, to exchange for store credit so I could buy cool stuff for the library. That was kind of a lot for me to do while still being sick, especially since the used book store does not have air-conditioning. I was already confused and feverish and it just made me more-so.
Last night I awoke in the dark because Esther was wiggling around under the covers, licking my leg. I reached down to move her away and felt something... WRONG. I lifted the covers to find she had BARFED ALL OVER ME and the bed, and was LICKING IT UP. That is both disgusting, AND an invasion of my personal space. What I have learned from this incident is that startling and revolting things can happen when I least expect it, in a place I think I'm safest.
Anthony the night owl was still up, so I got his attention by running down the hallway yelling "GROSS GROSS GROSS!!!"
He was a total lamb. While I was changing into non-barfy clothes, he helped strip the barfy sheets and put clean ones on.
When I finally tried to go back to sleep I was torn between wanting to comfort Esther and let her know there were no hard feelings, but also being wary of another barfing episode. And she was right back at my side again, way too close for comfort if she was gonna blow more chunks. But those big dark sensitive eyes... how can you turn her away?
That's one of the many reasons I'm not sad that Anthony and I chose not to have kids. When I'm tired I wanna be able to SLEEP, not have to deal with someone else's barf, or pee, or poop or whatever.
It's gross and inconvenient enough when I barf, pee, or poop. Or cry.
Speaking of things that do all of that, I have to go to a BABY SHOWER today. I am not thrilled. It's been sneakily incorporated into a Library meeting, so there's no escape for someone like me who does not think a baby is necessarily a reason to celebrate.
Babies are just little people, and people are mostly crappy. I don't like many of them. Nobody can give me a guarantee that this baby won't turn out to be a total asshole. Hitler was once a baby. Was THAT a reason to celebrate?