The kids and I have now been to three different doctor's offices since Friday, so that N's "animal check up" pretend play is taking on a very realistic narrative. Two of the visits were actually well-visits, one to monitor New Baby, the other O's kindergarten readiness well check up with two shots. He'll be proud to tell you he doesn't have to get any more shots until he's as big as his eleven year old cousin. We did also have N. checked out at the pediatrician's office, but luckily her cough only briefly threatened to morph into a full blown asthma event, and aside from a little crusty snot (which yes, she does enjoy wiping on me by rubbing her nose directly on my bare arm or pant leg, giggling all the while), she seems to be doing the best of all of us.
O and I finally went in to be seen today, after I woke up for the second morning in a row with my eyes glued shut, and O. was up most of the night with a horrific hacking cough, the kind that gets on your very last nerve, even though you know there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. We went straight to the Walgreens Take Care Clinic, because I just could not face up to scheduling appointments at separate doctors on oppposite sides of town.
Confirmed: sinus infection for me, pneumonia sounds in O's lungs. And surprise! A positive strep test for O. Seriously?
I think being sick in the summer is just the worst. The days are gorgeous, at least from the window, so you feel just wrong staying inside. No matter that it's 90 plus degrees outside and it wouldn't be all that fun to be frolicking in the yard or on the playground anyway, you simply feel like you're missing out.
When it was mostly me that was sick, I tried to keep us doing the things that we wanted to do. O. has had swim lessons everyday, so we head to the pool and I try to enjoy the water and not complain about being a pack horse or about trying to find food for lunch to put in a cooler that won't all just come home waterlogged.
I even made another batch of pickles to make myself feel more productive. Okay, maybe to distract from the overall disastrous quality of the housekeeping. I swear, I circle and circle around the high traffic kitchen-to-family-room route, picking things up and throwing them away or shuffling them into neater piles, and STILL there's always a wide sea of clutter lapping all around me.
But the worst today was telling O. that we not only couldn't go to his swimming lesson, but that also meant not joining his friends for the planned outing to the bowling alley afterwards. Like me, he was willing to drag himself to the fun, and the idea of being contagious just really wasn't translating. Many wails of "we never do anything fun!" and "no one ever comes to our house!" and "can't we just go for a drive?" were heard.
To make matters worse, the Happy Meals I picked up on the way home as bribery came with the WRONG toys. I specifically requested two girl toys, as Littlest Pet Shop wins over Marvel Super Heroes everytime in my boy's eyes, and seriously, what's so girly about a baby giraffe anyway? Iron Man just was not going to do it for him today, and sharing the pink Siamese kitty was not an option for either one of them. I was this close to heading back to the drive through. Luckily, the new bag of books from the library won out, as did promised hours of television in the basement.
We're glad to have some antibiotics on board, and have high hopes of everyone feeling much better by the time the weekend gets here. Mostly, I'd just like to have my sense of smell back. It's bad enough to feel like a truck hit me while also dragging around my belly's extra wide load. It's bad enough I have to keep doing loads of my own underwear thanks to the post nasal drip induced cough and the weakened state of my bladder. But when I can't even smell my fresh-picked basil to chop into my own garden tomatoes to make my own bruschetta, I am seriously bummed. Might as well be eating a sponge, for all my tongue can tell.
Oh, and poor, poor Scout. The old girl is having trouble with her back legs, limping visibly every time she hauls herself up from her spot lounging in the yard. She looks exactly how I feel. This comes on the heels of a tough recovery from intestinal distress after her most recent stay at the kennel. I've been giving her aspirin, and finally made a trip to the pet store to stock up on some supplements and additives to her food that look promising, but I'm wondering about the actual effectiveness. We've been mixing her food with water, and she's eating more often, but her age is becoming more and more apparent.
Between the dog medicine to be wrapped in cheese and the various kid medicines to be measured out in vials and cups, it's a regular pharmacy on my kitchen counter. Anyone know of a combination baby nurse/geriatric dog nanny that works super cheap? I think I'll need one around here starting late September.
Okay, I feel officially grumbly and grumpy that this is the post that is actually getting written among all the other ideas I've had for the last week. Perhaps after J. gets back in the country, and I don't fall asleep the second I slump into my leather chair after putting the kids to bed on my own, I'll actually be able to write one of those other things. We're on the mend, we're on the mend. Right? Right?