I have strep throat. How I got it, I don't know. I mean, I never leave my house. The only other person I have had face to face contact with besides S and my baby is the mailman. And that's always a quick "hello, hi, how are you?" But, maybe he is delivering more than just bills and junk mail. Maybe he takes secret pleasure in getting a lonely SAHM sick. Waah!
I look like Frankenstein, my glands are so swollen. My nose decided to stop working today, so I sound wonderful. Whine, whine, whine. I really hate being a grown up while sick. I just want my mommy. I want her to come take care of me.
When I was younger, she always made me a bowl of poached eggs and toast. All cut up. See, it doesn't taste the same unless you cut the toast and eggs up and mix them all together. It was the best. S has tried making it for me, but somehow it isn't the same. I think he lacks the "secret touch" a mother possesses. Possesses, hmm that was a fun word to type.
It really sucks now because all I'm allowed to take is the horse pill the doctor calls an antibiotic. I open my medicine cabinet and can hear the Nyquil calling out to me. Oh blessed Nyquil, how I miss you so. How I long for your warmth and licorice taste. How I long for the cozy night's sleep you always bring to me. It seems almost unfair that I have only gotten sick these last 18 months while I was/am pregnant. God knows I love Nyquil and this is my punishment for loving it so. I think that it's in the 10 commandments, something about not loving the alcohol-soaked medicine more than anything else. Sigh.