Oh, did I ever have a post ready.
A “woe is me”, “my life is so hard”, “give me all your pity and no one gets hurt” kind of post.
You see, I spent the weekend barfing. This was the capper to a week when my daughter spent 6 straight days expelling the contents of her stomach on a bi-daily basis. And my husband spent an entire day on the couch, semi-conscious and delirious.
When it was my turn to be sick, there was no one to help me. The husband’s day on the couch put him 2 days behind at work. He’s self employed. I like to pay my mortgage. So he HAD to work.
I was really sick. The low-point came when I had to drag a chair up to the stove, so I could puke into a bucket while cooking lunch for the kids. (Charming, I know.)
Last night, I went to sleep, and had feverish dreams.
I had one that was so clear and so realistic.
In the dream, one of my kids had cancer.
My weekend wasn’t that bad.