Our bedroom was dark. The first bands of morning light already start climbing the wall. I struggle to open my eyes as I groan and roll to my left. I peek at my phone, 6:30 am glows daring me to wake up. “You’ve got to be F-ing kidding me” I mumble to myself.
My hubby groans next to me but doesn't wake up. I lay still, soon noticing the pounding in my head over the silence in the apartment. I have a massive hangover. Then it dawns on me, all of the events from the night before come rushing back, like a flash flood. Now, I know what you are thinking, hard partying, late night drinking, incoherent rambling... NO. This hangover is a different type of hangover not reminiscent of my early twenties. This hangover is the product of a family-hobbling seasonal cold. That awesome cold that your three-year-old brings home from school and gives to her baby brother, who then, gives it to you. This is a "put your preschooler to bed at 8, and she doesn’t go to sleep until 1 AM" type of hangover. This is the "you have sick kids" hangover. There isn’t a cure for this. You can take an Ibuprofen, drink massive quantities of caffeine and limp through the day, just to go through it all over again in a few hours. On this particular morning, I wake up and think, why did I decide to have children!? I lay staring at the ceiling, channeling the strength of my ancestors, then catapult myself out of bed and stumble towards coffee and Theraflu. After fumbling through the obstacle course kitchen, I make my way to Ants’ room, peeking at his cherub face. He looks like an angel when he isn't blowing goopy boogers out of his nose and swatting at my face because he's uncomfortable and doesn't know why. I imagine that he's screaming in baby-talk: "Mommy, what's wrong with you!? I'm miserable!" But right now, he’s sleeping peacefully, no evidence of the wet hacking that kept me awake worrying until 4 AM. In Mila’s room, I approach her “big girl’ bed. I can’t see her body, but I can see the rise and fall of the covers which signal to me that she's comfy and fast asleep. Just a mere three hours ago she ninja-crawled into our bed wanting to "name all of her friends and discuss her coming day," but after playing the "your bed, my bed" Waltz for awhile she finally got the point, "GO TO SLEEP!" Ding! My coffee is ready. With a peachy glow, the sun makes it's entrance, stage left. My children and husband are safe and sound; I smile with a satisfying sense of relief, comfort, and love. I have a few glorious sips of warm liquid, I blow my nose, and then I hear it; rustling and coughing, indicating my sickly brood is stirring. I tighten my mommy armor (sweatshirt and sweatpants), grab the bulb suction and wipes and prepare for battle, again. *sniff, Cough*
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