At Least Nobody's Puking...

Coming off a week of mid-January misery around here. We were beset by a double whammy of pink eye and something H1N1-ish, which struck all of us except for Christian who is fairly sure he had already been swined and has been mercifully immune to the latest round.

The flu, which my kids were over in a few days, won’t let go of me. I’m winding up a week of sweaty, feverish nights and achy, sluggish days. Just when I start to feel better and think the end is in sight, another round of chills and a pounding headache move in. Meanwhile, the house gets dirtier and dirtier and I feel guiltier and guiltier about having no energy or inclination to play with my kids. I’ve been uncharacteristically quick to throw on a video and (more characteristically) extremely snappish. Coco has been a total pill lately, a combination, I think, of having been sick herself and of just being two. I yelled at her other day and made her cry, which didn’t necessarily feel good although it did feel kind of cathartic (to me, I mean. I’m sure it just felt shitty to her). On top of all this, I’m still dealing with some residual post partum…um…pelvic floor issues which means that while I’m hacking up a lung I’m also, occasionally, peeing my pants just a little which is awfully annoying as one can imagine.

Then there’s the pink eye thing. Those who have experienced the joys of conjunctivitis know that the cure is a week of eye drops (I’m pretty sure it’s hydrochloric acid) three times a day. Hank was pretty valiant about the whole thing, but the little girl fought us every step of the way--flailing, kicking, screaming. It took both parents to administer the treatment—usually me holding her down while papa hit her with the poison. On top of this, my personal physician (that would be my little sis) told me not to wear contacts during eye drop week. This wouldn’t have been a huge problem except for the fact that Henry broke my glasses at some point last year so I’ve been wearing a pair of Christian’s goofy specs from the eighties for most of the week. So not only did I feel like hell, I looked like a total dumbass.

My mental state is tenuous even in the best of health, and the exhaustion of being sick and taking care of sick children has pretty much turned me into a total basket case. Every time I hear something about Haiti on the radio I start crying into my chicken soup (that would be Rachael Ray’s chicken soup w/ extra garlic btw). Of course I also start crying for no reason at all, so I can’t even use the excuse that I’m particularly sensitive to the tragedy of current events.

Anyway, I’ve determined that the only cure is rest (yeah right), tea with honey and yoga. I started the new year off determined to revive my once flourishing home practice and was off to a good start until I was sidelined by . Now that I can manage to hold my head up and breathe through one nostril, it’s time to hit the mat again and shake this thing. Kapala bati, here I come.