I caught myself a big, nasty cold this week. Maybe running 12-miles during a windstorm might have had something to do with it, I dunno. Nevertheless, I woke up this morning and realized there was no friggin' way I was getting out of bed. Of course, I had no choice, since Pa's in San Francisco until tonight--so I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen to let out dogpal Moofie and feed Mr. Na. As soon as I achieved those two goals, I trudged back to bed, armed with orange juice, Thera Flu and a box full of tissues.
It's been a lonnnnnnnnnnng while since I've taken a full-fledged "sick day". In fact, I don't think I've ever been this sick since Mr. Na's been home. I feel worse than awful. In fact, the image that came to mind was the "Nurse Stimpy" episode from "The Ren and Stimpy Show" in which Ren was just this big ball of sickening goo. That's about as bad as I feel.
Upon hearing that all activities planned for the day had been cancelled, Mr. Na didn't take the news too well:
"But why can't we go to Kids Club today, Momma?"
"Because Momma will puke on the treadmill if she tries to run 6 miles today, that's why."
"Awwwww, but all my friends will miss me!"
Despite his protests and my feeble attempts to console him, he settled into his day a lot better than I anticipated. For one thing, I didn't want to park him in front of the TV all day and fry his brain; so he played in his room for awhile and then down in the basement (our new and improved "Rumpus Room"). It's 2 p.m. now, so he can watch his favorite shows until his 3:30 naptime. The only downside is that his shows are on TiVo (we rarely let him watch live TV) and I have to get my ass out of bed every 30 minutes to put on a new show. I've tried to time it with my pee breaks to minimize my up and downs, but things aren't going quite as planned. My liquid diet of Thera Flu, coffee, water, orange juice and tomato soup doesn't help much in that regard.
The author must excuse herself to go downstairs to turn "Oobi" on for Mr. Na.
I believe Mr. Na thinks that being sick makes you deaf, too. As soon as I heard the closing credits of "Caillou" he rushed to the staircase and shouted,
"MOMMA! CAILLOU'S OVER! MOM-MA! IT'S OVER, MOMMA!"
To be fair, though, he's being really good. I often hear him acting out with his trucks or choo choos, pretending one is sick and the others are taking care of them. He comes in to "check on me" every so often, bestowing kisses on my throat (to make it feel better) or bringing me "presents" (his toys wrapped in bows or paper).
It could be worse, right? I could have Nurse Stimpy looking after me.
Aaaachoo.
Note: CG-1 stands for "Caregiver 1". That's my handle between me and Pa (who is CG-2).
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