VivaCity

I want to go home. I want to go home and crawl under the covers and never, never come out, world be damned.

I am a conundrum...A sick mommy. Mommies, who tend all wounds and nurse all sickly babies back to health, are really not allowed to get sick. Who doctors the doctor? No-effing-body. So here I sit in my cubie, head swimming in Advil and coffee and trying not to look like I'm slumping over, which I totally am. Were it not for this workspace securely fastened to the wall, I would surely be in a heap on the floor. Not the best spot to seek a raise/promotion from. Hell, it's hard to stay employed if you get in the habit of taking naps on the job. Not a good idea. Where's the maitre'd? More coffee!

I'd be sharing all the hilarities my boys have been up to if they weren't sick themselves. It's hard to practice your Laurel & Hardy routine when The Virus Of '07 has got you down for the count. Although there are exceptions...

The baby is learning to wave. So far, that's about all he's got down, the wave. Elbow-wrist, elbow-wrist, just in time for the Mardi Gras parades. Next, we'll tackle timing, because his is seriously off. If we are, say, entering a room, I'll do my Mommy thing and put on a mini-Broadway show...HEL-LO! HI! OH, HELLO! HI THERE! Waving like a madwoman all the while. Baby appears uninterested. But in the middle of a stroll across a room where no one has entered or exited for the past 12 hours, he will spontaneously start waving. Elbow-wrist, elbow-wrist, entirely for his own benefit. Or perhaps for a little exercise. I've been meaning to talk to him about those rolls. Sheesh.

Methinks it may be time to pop another cold med. The world is coming into focus again. Ick.