the date that almost wasn’t.
A few months ago, Carly and I planned on making a date to see Eclipse* on Monday the 5th of July.
Knowing that we were having a date is what got me through the week.
But then, Sunday happened.
Happy Fourth of July, Cassie! Not only are you going to work 12 hours, but you are going to come down with some terrible cold that will render you useless by your 8th hour on the job.
So, since my patients were all being happy and self-sufficient during the last hour of my shift, I played secretary and answered calls and all around felt sorry for myself.
For those who are unaware, the first trimester of pregnancy is the meanest, cruelest of them all. I’d take rib shots in the third trimester over how exhausted and drained I feel 24/7. But then, to add this cold? Just plain mean.
I felt so gross that I almost….ALMOST called Matt to come pick me up. And to be honest, I had a few moments of how’d I get here? thoughts. But nevertheless, I got home, safely and in one piece and when I opened the car door to get out, I sat there. And sat, and sat some more. I felt so horrible. So piss-poor that I actually considered sleeping there. Recline the chair and bingo! I’d be set for the night.
But alas, I mustered up some energy, grabbed my stuff from the backseat and climbed the stairs. Then I proceeded to lay on the couch.
Matt knew I didn’t feel good because, A.) I didn’t change out of my work clothes before crashing on the couch (gross!) and B.) I didn’t even touch my computer.
Bedtime came around and I crawled into bed (in pj’s thank you very much) at 8:45. At 9:30 I called Matt on our phone intercom and asked if he could bring me some applesauce. I hadn’t had dinner and it’s all I wanted.
At 10:30 Claire woke up, screaming. Matt went in and after she kept crying for a few more minutes, I dragged my butt out of bed to see what was wrong. She threw up.
I carried her to the bathroom in time for her to throw up in the toilet and the whole time she was just bawling, never opening her eyes. She was SO. TIRED.
She went right back to bed after Matt changed her sheets and I changed her jammies. Then we both crawled into bed.
At 11:30, she was up again. Screaming. Again, Matt went in and after a few minutes of her still screaming, I went in. Apparently, she must have been so delirious that hearing my voice was the only thing that would calm her. Because, again, like before, she went right to sleep after I said, “Mama’s here.” Matt said, “She’s going to be up all night. I just know it. I’ll get up with her. You sleep.”
At 12:30, she was screaming even louder. She had peed the bed. This time, Matt didn’t move.
Now, Claire doesn’t have night time accidents anymore. They are very rare. I knew she had to be A.) sick and B.) overtired. I, again, changed her sheets and jammies and if she had actually opened her eyes once, I would have dumped her in the tub, but being as that would have been a drowning hazard, I tucked her back in and she fell fast asleep.
I came storming into the bedroom saying, “This is totally NOT. FAIR!” Matt, obviously unconcious to the world stuck his head up and says, “Wha? Huh?”
“No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. I am sick. I am pregnant. I am TIRED.”
“Of course you are. What are you talking about?”
I then told him about Claire and he felt terrible. Serves him right for sleeping like a normal person. (I swear the sound of a pin dropping wakes me up anymore.)
So at 4:30 when she woke up again, Matt crawled into bed with her and they both slept until 7.
I was up at 6:30, unable to fall back asleep, but my head felt so heavy. It felt like my head was swimming. There’s no way I can go up to Slippery Rock today. No way!
But then rational Cassie spoke up: Dude. You’ve been waiting forever. Freedom. Say it with me now, FREEDOM.
And it was true. This was the first time since the kids had been born that I was able to go out on my own and spend an afternoon with my sister.
So I sucked it up, took a shower, and drove up.
And it was awesome.
Hanging out with my sister is probably the best medicine ever. Not only did I get to complain about everything on the face of the Earth, but I got to hang out with Carly. And watch hottie boys on a big screen. And eat trans-fatty popcorn. And drink pink lemonade. And b.s. in Carly’s toaster sized apartment. And eat more bad for me food. And not move for several hours.
Best of all? Not once did I have to say, “Don’t do that. Take that out of your mouth. That’s gross!”
*Yes, before you say anything, we are lame. But we LOVE the movies, yet aren’t considered ‘twihards’ which I think should be changed to Ben’s loving name of ‘twitards.’