(It took me forever to get this blog posted because I am still quite sick so focusing on a screen is hard for me, and I also keep taking impromptu naps.)
First of all, the response we've gotten with regard to Harlynn's Labor of Love has been so positive and so overwhelming - thank you, everyone. So much. I wasn't sure if I was overstepping boundaries by asking others to participate, but I am humbled and once again feeling loved and supported, after hearing the enthusiasm and affirmation in your participation. So moved and just....thank you.
Secondly, today is day six. Day six of being totally sick and feeling worthless. It started, actually, last Thursday with me feeling weird and that something was coming on, but Friday and Saturday I felt fine and awesome, even. Sunday, awesomeness was out the window, and what I felt - and have felt for six days - goes far beyond craptastic.
Every day, Little Miss has told me I sound like a man (or that I have a boy's voice). She asks me if I am still sick and if that "means today is a stay-home day?" It's pathetic - I feel so bad for her. I ask her if she can play quietly while Mommy passes out on the sofa for a while. Then I wake myself up because I'm snoring, or choking on whatever the substance is draining from my head to my lungs via the sore-throat-express. On the days I've felt like I had enough energy to shower, I would throw on clean sweats and call it good. No make up. No hair styling. No energy for any of that. Outright sick, and getting sicker instead of better, each day.
This morning I woke up and my throat wasn't on fire. Bonus! I got up and I won't say I sounded like a "lady", but I certainly didn't sound like a man. When I spoke to Little Miss and she heard my voice she asked, "Are you feeling better yet?" I told her I was still sick but asked, "Does my voice sound better?" and she replied, "You kind of sound like my Mommy." I'll take it. I was so encouraged, I decided I would take a shower and put actual clothes on instead of sweats or clean pajamas. After my shower, I put on jeans and my most comfortable shirt and then had to take a rest. I was so wiped out from the energy it took to do those things, I had to sit down. Well, since my brain has been in a fog this entire week, I sat down directly in front of my glass of ice water I had so intelligently placed on the sofa cushion. My shirt, and especially my pants, got a good soaking. Not only did I have to clean water up from the sofa and the floor, but I had to change....into pajama pants that don't quite cover my waistline and a shirt that doesn't quite stretch far enough down. I would be a prime candidate for the People Of WalMart website with this attire today.
"No big deal," I thought. "It's just me and Little Miss at home." I resolved to change before Brent came home from work today, forgetting he would be coming home early because he went to work early. When he walked in the door long before I expected him, I was covered in a blanket, so he couldn't see my pajama pants.
Let's take a breather for a second. No, it's not like Brent has never seen me in pajama pants before. But I have been wearing pajamas or sweats all week long and I thought, "Wouldn't it be nice for Brent to see his wife dressed like a real person again instead of like a Hanes mannequin?" I'm doing this for my marriage...so I thought.
The pajama pants that were readily available for me after the water incident, are entirely staticky. One step after putting them on, and the legs ride up to my knee caps. They're comfortable material, but entirely impractical. Being hugely pregnant, they don't cover what they used to. The shirt I grabbed doesn't match at all, and also doesn't cover what it used to, since there is far more of me to cover these days. I almost laughed to myself because every time I go out in public or run into someone I know they always say, "You look great!" Now, this is a phrase I have come to realize in pregnant-speak means, "Hey, for being fat and uncomfortable, you're holding it together pretty decently." I'm to the point where when I'm no longer pregnant and someone tells me I look great, I will question their motives. Whatever, though. I was home under a blanket, with no audience, and no worries.
Until. I was watching my friend Tracy's tidbit, and thought, "Oh how funny, I have a FedEx order coming tomorrow...." and in this FedEx order are two things I asked Brent if I could get, and three things I threw in for good measure, without notifying him first. Whoops. Stupid Amazon, does it to me all the time! They have everything! No sooner did the thought pass through my head, there was a knock at the door.
From a stranger.
Wearing a FedEx uniform.
I hobbled up out of my spot, and both pajama pant legs were up to my thighs from the daggum static. I tried to shimmy them down to my ankles, and pull the waistband up to cover my exposed belly. I pulled my shirt down, but had to be careful, because if I pulled it down too far, I would expose more than I would cover. I waddled to the door, unlocked it, and the FedEx man - Lord in heaven, please help that man un-see what he saw today. Bless him for being gracious and polite - stammered as he spoke, handed me a small box and I tried, I really tried, to say, "Thank you" and "you too" after he said "Have a nice day." However, since my voice isn't quite what it usually is, it wasn't Val who was saying those words, it was a pubescent male who also coincidentally smoked an entire carton of cigarettes. If I'm not the most frightening person that man delivered to today, I'd be surprised.
To make matters more insulting, it wasn't even what I ordered. Brent ordered himself a new Bible, and that's what came today. Not even any of my fun stuff. Only fun stuff for him.
And the FedEx man sayeth, "Lord, they need you. Thank you for putting a Bible in that scary beer-belly man's home, and be with him to quit smoking and drinking."