I took Rob to the pediatrician yesterday, and the pediatrician said he doesn't see how it can possibly be whooping cough. Then he retracted that statement, saying that whenever he says something like that, he can almost guarantee the test will come back positive just to show him doctors shouldn't get too full of themselves. (Ha ha. Thanks for giving my child WHOOPING COUGH with your HUBRIS.) He thinks it's probably not even a cold, just seasonal allergies. But in any case, the test results for whooping cough won't be back until Thursday afternoon or Friday morning. This is me, not freaking out about the minuscule risk that we might expose a zero-day-old baby to whooping cough.
Now Edward and William are coughing. Listen, I am this close to kenneling these children for the next week. If the rates were reasonable I might throw Paul in, too: this morning he said he hadn't wanted to tell me but he's had a sore throat for two days and today it's worse. He stayed home from work, which is actually good timing because he can help with the kids while I bump around the house like a spastic bumblebee.
Normally he wouldn't go to the doctor for a sore throat, but I am getting really jumpy about all this illness and I said he had to. I believe my voice got a little shrill. I'd been up since 4:30 (couldn't get back to sleep after third pee of the night) dealing with the existing situations (note to Rob's teacher about the doctor appointment; email to my in-laws explaining that if they send me last-minute crucial contact information at 8:00 tomorrow morning, as they have done twice before on my c-section date, I will not be here to receive it), and I was in no mood to add yet another complication. If he's contagious, he can stay home tomorrow with all the children and I will go off to the hospital free and easy and not give any of them a single thought.
I feel queasy and fluttery. This day is the one day of the entire pregnancy that doesn't seem long. I gave the twins baths, and I'm on a second load of laundry. I don't have much I need to do, but I want to have plenty of hours to let that truth be felt. I want to be able to go into one room and then another, seeing the empty laundry baskets, the empty trash cans, and the fresh sheets. I want to visit my muffin stockpile in the freezer. I want time to go over my hospital bag list twenty extra times to make sure I'm not forgetting anything that will make me unable to have the baby after all, and I want to re-read the hospital pamphlet so I won't forget not to get up at 3:00 a.m. and eat a steak. Oh my god, what if I lose my mind and accidentally eat BREAKFAST in the morning? What THEN? I need to re-read the pamphlet right now.
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 2 of 2 - Last week I talked about the gifts we were getting/considering for Edward, who is turning 8 next month. This week it’s Elizabeth’s turn: not “girl gifts,” ...