Reminder to self: weeping will not help.
But sometimes, you just wanna sit and cry, you know?
I've been sick since September, and thinking back, I had the first cold in mid August, so it's been about six months since I have felt healthy. This is not me; this is not normal. This is baby's first winter in day care, and this is what happens to at least one of the parents, at least in my anecdotal sampling of personal experience. Maybe it's only a first child thing, I don't know, and maybe there is actual research to support my suppositions, but I am too tired and sick to look for it. Suffice to say, I think that Finn and I share the same immune system, so whatever he gets, I get. Pete does not.
Finn was just in for his 18 month appointment. All is well. He had his Pc and HiB boosters (now I only have Hep B and Polio to catch up on, along with his H1N1 and seasonal flu boosters, in the first week of January). He's on the curve or done with catch-up for most of his charts, except for weight, I think). 20 pounds, 13 ounces and 30 inches. He's nursing and eating like a champ (peas are a current favorite). He's happy and social. He's been sleeping like crap again, but that's a chore for the new year.
He does have an ear infection, though, so he's on the pink stuff again. I have the same thing, but it sure seems worse than his. I'm at work today, but I shouldn't be. Pete was in a bad mood all day yesterday, and today he was complaining about day care being a pain because it takes two hours out of our day every day, but we don't want to switch him, so it's just complaining (we have not been able to get back to our bus routine since Thanksgiving; another chore for the new year). It piles up on me, though. I feel it like a weight. Maybe it's because I am sick; maybe it's because I blame myself for pretty much everything, but when Pete turns into a little black rain cloud, I feel like a failure. My house (I had it when we met) is too small. I have too much stuff. The baby is not sleeping by himself. Day care is too far away. The house is a mess. There's too much to do. There's no time. He's not getting laid. (That last one is actually the first one, and the one that I think contributes to all the others being frustrating for him. Plus, it blows to have a constantly sick partner.)
All my fault, my brain says.
But truly, weeping will not help.
Happy baby was sitting in his new, gigantic, forward-facing car seat (over 20 pounds and over one year old; rear-facing is still safer, and I wanted to leave him rear-facing in town, but... whatever), and he loves it. He can see out the windows, he can see us. He did not fall asleep this morning like he usually does.
And now, I should get back to drowning in work.