As I mentioned earlier, there was flu in the house this week. It didn’t last long, since we all had the shot, but I was briefly down for the count. And I am not the world’s most patient patient. In fact, I’m a bit of a baby when it comes to fever-chills, which by the way is one of the worst ideas I’ve ever come across. I’m hot! I’m shivering! Do I want a blanket? I don’t know! Things hurt! Uch.
Anyway. So on this amazingly exciting day, when our home-town team won the World Series for the first time since becoming this town’s team, instead of being able to be engrossed in the joy and euphoria, my husband dealt with: a barfing wife, a screaming baby, a snotty toddler.
But since I was the one barfing, I reserved the right to feel slightly worse.Afterward, I just wanted to feel better as soon as humanly possible. Not just for myself I mean, obviously I wanted to rid myself of the ague because it stinks. But what really scared me was the idea that I’d have to nurse Abby feeling like this. What if I had to barf while she was nursing? WHAT IF I BARF ON THE BABY?
And then there’s this: feeling so achey and flu-ey, I looked down and saw an angry red spot on my breast and thought, “Good lord, is this mastitis?” That’s what people describe flu-like symptoms and a red boob. Of course, they don’t barf. But what if I had both? I was frantically calling the doctor and actually on the phone with the poor nurse while I barfed. Sexy, sexy, hot momma.
She said, “whatever you do, don’t stop nursing. It’s your only hope of not getting mastitis.”
I took to Facebook and whined and complained. “I feel so sick, yet I have to keep my boobs in action!” I typed. Which led to the discovery (not really a discovery, more like a re-discovery, or a re-re-re-re-re-re-re-discovery) that my friends are a bunch of immature dolts. I should have realized this when I met them all at the Immature Dolt Society, or IDS, which has chapters in every major city. Anyway, the idea of barf and action-boobs was too much for them to take and much hilarity ensued.
Meanwhile, I gathered strength, took myself off the cool bathroom floor, washed up, brushed teeth, and nursed the baby. Actually, I was pretty relieved I was able to do so, because my antibodies were in the milk, and this kept Abby from catching my terrible disease.
Then we just laid around in bed together. That’s what she does anyway, and I had to, so it made sense for us to sequester ourselves while Penny and Randy watched the triumphant final innings. And it is nearly impossible to really feel bad when this little smiling creature is on the pillow beside you.