*headdesk*

So, Monday, I came down with this nasty bug.

Suffice it to be summed up with Michael's comment about 4 AM Monday night -- "I'm surprised, after this long, that you have anything left in you."

Yeah. Not so pleasant.

This was after Saturday when Bruise puked all over the hall --- RIGHT OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM.
And I took Bucket shopping with me. Free BBW lotion (with coupon!) and a pack of those shaped rubber bands for her.
Then we got home and SHE puked. At least twice. Michael took care of that, since I took care of the hallway since he was out helping Dad C unload a trailer.

And that brought us to Monday where I felt nauseated. Carsick, even. Queasy.
We got dinner after grocery shopping.
I still am irked that I wasted that portion of the cash I had on hand. Since it all went into the toilet. Before schedule.

Tuesday, I was thrilled that I kept down water. Finally took some generic Immodium (TMI, I'm sure).

Mom came up (this was planned) ... she was also queasy, too. We were a pair. But she took care of me.

Wednesday, I took a pregnancy test. Just in case.
Nope. Just sick and late.
(Which was a little bit of a disappointment balanced with relief. Since, really, where would we put another kid in here? ... And, at the same time, a part of me screams "OHNOZ!!!!! I'M BARREN!!!!" every time I get my period. Yes. I'm complicated. So??)

I really must be PMSing right now. I'm a prickly bundle of irritation and irksomeness. I don't even want to be around me.

Bucket puked tonight. In her bed. She's now on the top bunk, so she puked on her blankets, Bruise's coverlet, AND the carpet. And the rugs in the bathroom.

Does it make me a bad mom to admit that times like this make me want to just check out for the day? Like, okay, that's enough for this 24-hour period. My duties are supposed to end when you fell asleep ... what fresh hell are you giving me NOW, child? I played video games and watched a show with you. THIS is how you repay me for my efforts?!?!??!???

Don't get me wrong, I still love her. Mostly.
My mother's love for her is tempered with a measure of frustration.
Chalk it up to being human.

But, really, she won't even remember throwing up. At all.

And the house stinks of vomit.

I just want to crawl in a hole and hide.
Even though Michael was the one who took it upon himself to do most of the work.
And here I am, being a terrible wife and mother. I'm snapping at him and irritated over nothing.
He deserves better.

I'm just really tired.

This could have been a really great day.
My mom was here. That's always fun.
I've kept food down. For the last two days. No puking for me! ... That's great, too!
I don't have to worry about where to put another crib in our house. That's a HUGE relief!
I made PERFECT hard-boiled eggs ... like, the yolks were YELLOW and not greyish.
WE COLORED EGGS! And the dyes turned out well. Like nice and brilliant!
Michael made dinner. And it was really good.
I had taken videos of the kids with my phone. That was fun.

And then ... as Michael and I are trying to watch a movie ... Bruise gets all worked up (CRYING! There were TEARS! And WEEPING!! And WAILING!!!) because he wants someone to snuggle with.
Someone HUMAN ... so Freyja's out. So are the seven stuffed animals he has in his bunk.
And it has to be in HIS bed (so he couldn't crawl into Bucket's bed with her). And Daddy won't do. Only Mommy.
... But, but, but ... Michael and I are watching a movie ... *sigh*
So, I did go in and chat with him. And we talk about going camping in the summer.

And about how he needs his own quillow ... instead of stealing Daddy's or mine.
And what he wants it to look like. (For the record -- like Jango Fett -- blue and grey and white. But blue and white will suffice.) At least he's decisive, right?

Then, as soon as he's sound asleep and Michael and I are watching the show?
Bucket screams ... and it's the puke chronicles, as told above.

It's stupid. My friends are having WAY worse days/weeks/months/years than I am ... but this is what's ... what's just too much for now. It's so stupid.

I'm tired of being nauseated. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of puke.
I'm tired of being all PMSy.
I'm tired of feeling all stupid.

I'm going to bed.