I recently came down with some kind of virus or infection that made my tonsils so large I was actually rendered unable to speak normally for a few days. I guess science is the only thing that can truly shut me up.
This tonsillitis, as my doctor called it after shining a 100,000 megawatt light directly into my face and shoving a q-tip shaped yardstick down my horribly inflamed throat, pretty much put me out of commission for about four whole days. In mommy time, four days is more like a month. Stuck in the house with two very whiny young children who alternate between beating the crap out of each other and begging for fruit snacks every five minutes, with no other adult present, barely able to move from the couch and shaking uncontrollably with chills and a fever, while trying desperately to keep at least one eye open to make sure the kids don’t end up killing each other or themselves or possibly the dog, is a teeny tiny glimpse of hell on earth.
If you have kids, you’ve surely been there once or twice before. If you haven’t, don’t get all cocky. Your kids probably just haven’t yet begun attending that germ-infested virus party called “school” and have yet to wake up screaming their heads off at 2am with a 103 fever, dragging their little sick asses into bed next to you so that they can blow their noses directly into the freshly washed Egyptian cotton sheets you will no longer be getting any sleep on.
But anyway, back to me and my own ailments.
Here’s a little recount of how those marvelous four days went for me:
Happy Birthday to me! Apparently the birthday karma police are mighty pissed that I dared to write a blog post declaring my disdain for birthdays, and have thus decided to give me the generous gift of feeling even shittier than I did the morning after that time in my early 20’s when I tossed back about 10-15 “birthday shots” of straight vodka. Well played, karma.
Every part of my body is throbbing, I’m hot and cold at the same time, I can’t even get my morning coffee down, and I pretty much feel like death. But I’m not worried. Big M is home, he’ll watch the kids and I’ll spend the day relaxing and sleeping this thing off. A whole day in bed actually sounds kind of awesome. Plus I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow. It’s all good, yo!
Besides, who needs to have a drink on their birthday when they’ve got fever-induced delirium?
I wake up to Little D’s routine early morning love slap on the head, which, by the way, is still on fire and pounding. Big M is back to work today, so it’s just me, the rugrats, and my golf ball sized tonsils for the next eight hours. But I got this. I think. Little M can miss a day of camp, Little D’s doctor’s appointment can be postponed, and there are enough shows between Nickelodeon, Disney Junior and Sprout to keep them both occupied long enough to leave me alone and let me rest for at least a little while.
A half hour later I realize that the person who thought that television was enough to subdue my psychotic children was clearly not in her feverish, right mind. So far one kid has thrown a tantrum because he didn’t want blueberry toaster waffles for breakfast and the other one took off all her clothes, diaper included, and peed on the rug. Only 7.5 hours until Big M gets home….
I’ve been popping Advil every four hours for three straight days now and it looks as though my body temperature is just going to stay at a scorching 101 forever. My tonsils are two giant globes in my throat, each with a growing, self-sustaining population of tiny tonsil people who wage war on any liquid or solid substance I attempt to sneak past them.
I think it’s time to see a f***king doctor.
Oh, and these kids? Are one fruit snack away from being shipped off to work in an Indonesian sneaker factory.
Big M is working again today, so I call him up and basically threaten divorce if he isn’t home by noon so I can go to the doctor before the office closes and before I drop dead right here on my Home Depot area rug. Thankfully for our marital status, he obliges.
I’ve been on antibiotics for almost 24 hours and there is finally a light at the end of this wretched tonsillitis tunnel. I’ve been so out of it for the past three days that someone could have broken into my house and I would’ve just looked up from the pillow long enough to ask that they leave the air conditioner, take the kids, and go.
I climb out of bed and go inside to assess the damage. The children haven’t bathed since Thursday, and judging by the tower in my sink, neither have the dishes. The laundry is overflowing from the baskets, and the toys from the kid’s bedroom have spilled out into the kitchen and the living room floor.
I step over a cabbage patch doll in the hallway and make my way to the bathroom to look in the mirror, then recoil in disgust at the bird’s nest piled high atop my head. There is no uglier sight than that infamous “sick hair,” the unattractive combination of not washing nor brushing for several days and the nappiness created by endless hours of sweating profusely and restless tossing and turning. Not pretty.
I open the fridge and there are leftovers in there from a dinner I don’t even recall making. The bread is almost gone and the peanut butter jar is scraped totally clean, which leads me to believe that my kids won’t be in the mood for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again for a very, very long time.
Little M looks up at me from his video game, a huge smile on his face.
“Hi mommy! Do you feel better yet?”
Aww. He’s so sweet. I look at him and Little D and suddenly a huge wave of guilt washes over me because these poor kids have been stuck in the house all this time too, their sad, little faces pressed against the windows wishing we could just go outside and have some summertime fun. All this time I’ve been bitching about them being so obnoxious to me, when really they were just being regular kids. If anyone was a total nightmare, it was me.
Now I feel like a whole new kind of shit.
And then he adds “if you feel better, can you clean up this mess now?”
………Does anyone know of any sneaker factories in Indonesia that are hiring?