Well, I probably shouldn't have said anything to begin with. Phoebe's fever did subside. And that slight yuckiness I was feeling Saturday did turn into something. In other words, I've been on the couch or in the bed since Sunday after church. And here it is Wednesday night and I still can't breathe or walk around for more than ten seconds or so.
So the yuck began Saturday. Sunday it hit hard. Monday I sent Phoebe to Nandy's house for the afternoon so I could sleep. Monday night, I slept like, two hours. Totally uncomfortable. Tuesday, Mops (that's my mom) comes to rescue us with noodle soup and in-home babysitting and nurse services. Big props to Dr. Randy for calling in not one but two z-packs. [These were also delivered to us by Mom.] Tuesday night, Mops takes the monitor and cares for Phoebs if she needs it. (She didn't, but my sleep was blissfully uninterrupted by a stirring baby.) And then Wednesday, Phoebs wakes up with a terrible sniffle. Runny nose, sneezes, cough, the whole bit. So she has the nasties. Wednesday afternoon, Daddy comes home sick from work with a fever. Do not, under any circumstances, enter our house. We should be under quarantine.
Truth be told, Michael's in pretty good spirits for feeling like doo doo. And I can tell I'm sort of on the mend, even if I have to breathe through my mouth 100 percent of the time. And having a live-in nurse has been pretty outstanding, although I'm sure Mops will be returning home tomorrow and that I can't expect this kind of care every time we all come down with illness. But it has been nice! She even made Italian chicken noodle soup. Dude.
Anyway, we all might emerge from the house in something other than pajamas by, like, this weekend. Maybe. We've not dropped off the face of the planet... we're just keeping the Kleenex company in business.