But I’ve been wrong before. Or maybe I have to stop reading books that talk about plague while the family is sick and I’m pregnant.
Tornado E has reduced his fever but is trying to cough out a lung, which he generously shared with me. I spent the night alternating between chills, sweats, and dear-god-I’m-going-to-loose-the-baby. I’m sure the last one is overreacting a tad. Yesterday I sat on the couch like a zombie with a little drool hanging out of the corner of my mouth. When the boys decided they only needed an hour and half nap, I packed up and went to my parents, which is something I’m selfishly contemplating right now. Why is it when someone is the least bit sick, The Husband comes down with an illness that should have him quarantined or at least waited on hand and foot by his wife? Escaping to the parents’ house is looking better and better.