How can I write all that I want to write when I’m distracted by the awesomeness of glee and the smell of yummy muffins?
My brain is mush. Mushy mushy mush. Mushier than the banana I smushed and added to the chocolate chip muffins so I could pretend they were healthy.
What were we saying?
Andrew is sick, dear interwebs. I tried telling him at the pedi’s office today but he didn’t seem to care. He did care about the fish, though.
Man I love Sue Sylvester. Love.
Anyway, so yeah. He’s been on six virtually consecutive rounds of antibiotics. I’ve been pushing for answers and for him to eat more yogurt.
Friday he’s supposed to get tubes in his ears to combat recurring ear infections. He finished antibiotics for one this weekend.
He has another one already.
And a new medicine for his nebulizer (which he had to start with the last round of drugs).
This one costs $98 a month ($499 without insurance) and makes his sessions last twenty minutes, morning and night.
Have you ever tried to strap a steaming mask that sounds like a semi truck to the face of a non-compliant toddler and keep it there for twenty minutes?
Want to come over tomorrow morning and try it?
Before snotting our way to the pedi’s office unexpectedly, I had a nice long chat with the doctor about the Unfairness and Unacceptableness of it all when he called to check on Andrew. The visit wasn’t scheduled–but when daycare calls to say your kid is having trouble breathing, you find yourself saying “I’m bringing my kid ____ in to see Dr. _____ now.” (Normally I’d go back and edit this stream of consciousness drivel and at least put stuff in order, but not tonight, friends. This is for realz.)
So during the call at lunch, I said things like “future immunity” and “side effects” and “runny poop” and he said things like “yeah, yeah, I hear you” and “further testing” and “compromised immune system” and “cystic fibrosis” and then I sat in my car and cried before going back into work.
Oh and my mailman is a complete idiot and returned Mr. Aggie’s half of daycare/insurance to the state, saying I’d moved. He continued to deliver my junk mail, though. Remind me to punch him in the taco, should the opportunity present itself.
So yeah. Money dramaz.. And Andrew’s sick. And work got all tense all of the sudden. And I’m tired. And sometimes, I feel overwhelmed by it all.
But I asked for this, and I can do this. I can deal with rushing out of a meeting, updating parents/grandparents, dealing with doctors and a sick kid and being at Target waiting on our prescription at 6:30 at night, scrapping plans to make spaghetti and play, instead picking up frozen veggies and a premade chicken. I can feed, bathe, pajama, and feed again an increasingly headstrong kid without taking off my heels. I can feed myself somewhere in there (I think) and clean the kitchen and make muffins so the bananas don’t go completely to waste.
And then, when that little boy who is my whole world falls asleep during his breathing treatment while watching Glee, I can hold him and savor his weight, place him in his crib and tuck his quilt around him. I can tiptoe back to the couch and sit in the dark and type this entry and cry a little and say to you that I am tired. and sometimes I am overwhelmed. But I can do this.
And I will.