The hardest part is not planting kisses all over that smart alecky little twerp
Well, I sent my official press release to all the major media outlets, but apparently I'm the only one who thinks my illness is of international import. And yet my brother gets face time on HuffPo dressed as an overgrown deceitful puppet (he's the extra sweaty one, front left). It's like the time Noah was probably going to be in the background of an evening news clip, but then Barack Obama had to go and announce his presidential candidacy on the same day.
On a related note, thank you to everyone who has felt sorry for me and voiced it either on my blog or Facebook. If I can generate even one fished-for well wish, I feel like at least I'm doing something.
There have been some inquiries—actually, one inquiry (thanks Lish)—as to how a stay-at-home mom deals when she's SUPER SUPER SICK like me (I have pneumonia in case you didn't pick up on it). The truth is: Not very well.
Noah's older brother is starting a new job next month, so he was able to come get Ethan at 11 yesterday and keep him till Noah got home. My mom lives 10 minutes away and works from home, so today I called her with my pitiful almost-not-there morning voice and had her come pick us up at 9:30, then we stayed at her house until Noah got home from work.
Ethan's a good little guy who's happy watching movies or Dora or Handy Manny or Little Einsteins for most of the day (although plopping him in front of the TV for several hours, even though he's playing and whatnot at the same time, bothers me). Still, his comprehension of my illness doesn't match his astounding communication skills. ("Hmm, it's noice outside!" "The moon! It's blight!" "I have poo poos in my bum." "I'm not gonna do dat. It's my loife.")
For instance, in the hour it took to get both of us out the door the day of my fateful doctor's appointment, I had to stand in the driveway croaking, "Ethan, Mommy is VERY SICK COME GET YOUR DIAPER ON PLEASE DON'T PEE IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD (cough, hack)." Normally these negotiations are conducted indoors, but I've settled for incremental victories as I can get them.
Phase One: Cover the wiener before getting in the car.
Phase Two: Get the shorts on before entering the doctor's office.
Phase Three: Weigh Bunny and Sammy on the electronic scale at the nurse's station before being asked to please return to the waiting area.
Phase Four: Remove the tongue depressor from the stirrup before the doctor comes into the exam room.
And so on.
But then last night, sitting on the floor, I asked Noah to massage my shoulders for me. Ethan cut in front of him and stood behind me, gently rubbing my shoulders. Those ten seconds made up for all three days' worth of inappropriate public nudity. And the fact that he hadn't had a bath in two days...well. Who am I to judge?