And then, we wept, and shivered, and sank into ourselves. Only I was sick, really sick. Full of antibiotics and tension – my body, on alert, a nod back to the days of early postpartum. I write this as if it were then, to remind myself how quickly now becomes then.
So, I am sick. The kind where you go to the doctor for drugs, anything to make “it” stop, whether it be a head stuffed with cotton or a throat covered in fur. Needless to say, you know you’re not kicking this thing on your own.
And yes, we just moved – for the most part – yesterday. I held it together, but the more I inhaled the white flower poison (I swear Spring is the season I want to hibernate), the more my bones turned brittle and lungs filled with gauze. Sick in bed all day was not how I wanted to spend the first day in the new house, at all. But, what are you going to do?
The weird part is: I feel more out of sorts in the new house than Asher. All you want when you’re ill enough to stay in bed is grandma’s blanket, chicken soup, and familiar surroundings. I had two out of three, and two great guys to help cheer me. But, the house feels like a vacant landscape, an open valley of space, cluttered with brown boulder-size boxes, and all I want is to crawl back home, wherever that is.
It’s the kind of day when you just want the commercial break to end. Let life get back to square, tidy photos on walls, a fridge covered in child art, and a night where ruining a new recipe is the worst it gets.
It’s just not “supposed to” be like this. I should be prancing around like Cinderella with cartoon birds at my feet. Unfortunately, I am making my way through the evil forest instead. Scratch that last sentence – much too much drama.
Stay tuned. Breathe well. Stay indoors.