Since you asked ...

… This was probably the worst Christmas I’ve ever had. At the very least it’s tied with the time my father and I weren’t speaking and I didn’t go home, spending my first Christmas ever away from my family. But it’s mighty close.

But ya see, in the grand scheme, I know darn well that many people had a much worse Christmas than I. So then I feel guilty for even feeling sorry for myself. But you know what? I’m tired of other people’s worse-than-you stories robbing me from throwing myself a good pity party. So listen up, or click on to the next blog, whatever suits you. But I’m going to pout a little now.

Incrediboy’s been really struggling with his latest bug. He had a pretty good fever for nearly a week, accompanied by deep hard coughing frequently followed by a huge splatter of phlegm, vomit, or both. He’d cough all night and was exhausted, miserable and nearly inconsolable. We had him to the doc three times before they gave us a scrip for amoxycillin. His fever broke the next morning. Possibly coincidence, but it really makes me want to kick some butt over there. Whether here nor there though, he was still sick through the holidays.

If there is anything worse than a sick little one, it’s having a sick little one when you are sick too. We had plans with my husband’s family on Saturday and my family on Monday. Joy of joys, I felt it coming on me Friday night as I wrapped gifts, and I woke up on Saturday feeling like I’d swallowed a hedgehog and had been run over by a convoy of Humvees. So we cancelled our plans with Hub’s family. I was still sick on Christmas Eve, and so we cancelled plans with my family, too.

I still felt like crapola on Christmas Day, but Incrediboy felt better at least – so I pushed through my own misery to make the day special for him. Sadly, we only had a meager half-dozen gifts under the tree for him because we’d wanted to do more shopping before the plague came upon our home – and had planned on gathering with family, thus multiplying the gift load. Dear sweet Incrediboy, still young and unmarred by commercialism, didn’t know the difference and was happy all the same. But I felt like a real crumb about that. Not to mention that Hub and I decided to forego gifts for each other this year in interest of getting something big (like a washer/dryer or a new couch or something) after the first of the year. So, there was nothing under the tree for either of us – only a few lame trinkets I’d gotten for our stockings so we’d all have something to dig out on Christmas morning. Not a big deal really, but on the other hand it was kind of depressing.

Hub began feeling bad on Christmas night, but seems to have fended it off. Incrediboy is still hacking a little and has intermittent mucous attacks but in general is back to his sparkling self. I am still up poop creek. My snot locker’s full, my throat is raw, and my muscles ache. I’m doped up on Advil Cold & Sinus and Nyquil and I think my tastebuds are officially dead from all the Sucrets I keep eating in vain attempt to dull the throat pain. I’m freezing all the time but am still coming to work because it’s year-end time. Plus I had already scheduled Thursday and Friday off and like a selfish beyotch I want at least ONE them to spend solely on myself. Doing what, I don’t know. Go shopping to replace my 10-year-old wardrobe? Spend the whole day at the bookstore? Call up a girlfriend for a leisurely lunch? Wander through the museum? Get my hair done? Spend the day in uninterrupted scrapbooking bliss? I don’t know. But Mommy needs some me-time.

Just. Me.

Of course will I even feel like doing any of that? Probably not. I feel like crap.

Thanks for listening, even if you didn’t. :) I’ll try to get back to my cheerful self in the new year! Much love to all of you ~