06242017Headline:

Death Warmed Over

"And here you have the body of a young stay at home mother who was smothered by her children while she had the flu. Incredibly sad."

“And here you have the body of a young stay at home mother who was smothered by her children while she had the flu. Incredibly sad.”

Oh, cruel fate. I have to say, there’s nothing a mother in charge of small children enjoys more than being sick for a week and half, feeling at the top of her game for two days, and then coming down with the plague right after.

Health, it was great while it lasted, which is almost as long as the children held any pity in their hearts for me. Roughly, about eight seconds. The thing about this cold is that it’s about five times worse than the cold I had two weeks ago.

It also might be the flu.

Or Malaria.

Or Lyme disease. But probably the flu, because Web MD tends to humor me a little too much on the, “I’m dying” front. Who wants to be humored on that front? you ask. I do. I’ve got over five hundred blog posts that need to be added in my will somewhere, and it’s always nice to know how much time you have to put off that all important call to the attorney you have yet to hire.

The question as to who inherits those posts is top secret. Or I may give them away in a Rafflecopter. Depends if I have Lyme disease or not.

It’s been a long time since I was so sick I had to park on the couch and let Husband take over completely, and the only thing more difficult than turning over the reigns has been convincing the house I’m actually sick. Luckily, various stragglers past my sickly perch have been kind enough to comment on my current status.

Things I’ve heard in between Sudafed and NyQuil binges…

“I don’t think she’s really sick.”

“Someone tell her to get up.”

“Are you still coming to eat at my play restaurant? Because I’ve been working on it for a long time.”

“Are you better yet?”

“She’s not sick anymore.”

“Jump on her a little bit.”

“Could you watch the kids a little bit while I leave? I promise I’m coming back. What if I bring you Diet Coke? Stop looking at me like that. Good luck and Godspeed.”

“Jump on her again.”

“The baby is on the stove and has the pizza cutter.”

“Momma?”
“Yes?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You mother’s dying a very slow death.”
“Daaaaaaaaaddy! Momma said she’s dying. Is she really dying?”

Word to the wise, never joke with small children that you’re getting ready to pass on. They don’t let it go, make you swear you’ll live forever, and and beg you to come eat at their play restaurant. And, between you and me, if the only customers they invite are people who have the flu, I don’t think that place will be open very long. Although, I have to admit the railroad track “banana split” is devine.

And, if I don’t make it, at least I have a few final instructions.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com.


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