On not blogging

Rachel was the third one awake this morning, which was good news for Benjamin. She's patiently holding him on the couch right now, happy to have him all to herself. She's always begging to hold him. He's usually fairly content to let her but there are often complicating factors (Miriam yanking on his limbs being the most common).

Miriam's still asleep. She's coughing dreadfully, but she's asleep.

Just kidding. She just wandered out of her bedroom. So much for a few minutes alone—now my lap is full and I'm being coughed on.

It doesn't matter. These germs have already been well-shared in our house.

My throat hurts so bad I can hardly stand it and my head is pounding.

Benjamin woke up shortly before 2 AM and spent the next 4.5 hours cough, writhing, and fussing in bed beside me. He wants to nurse every time he coughs. I'm not sure how much sleep either of us got last night or the night before or even the night before. I suppose sleep is optional.

"Mom! You have to look at what Benjamin did!" Rachel called proudly from the couch.

She has a cough, too, but seems to be on the mend. Maybe.

I looked over.

"He took his diaper off!" she announced.

Fabulous.

Stupid velcro tabs.

I suppose I should have put a onesie over it.

I picked Miriam up and plopped her, standing, on the ground beside me.

"Go wake up your dad," I sighed the imperatively to her. "Cuddle him."

I could handle this morning when it was me and Benjamin. I could handle this morning when it was me and Benjamin and Rachel. Adding Miriam to the mix was too much. She's such a high-maintenance sicky.

She burst into tears and fled to her bedroom. How dare I put her down!? How dare I suggest she cuddle her father?! Where was the humanity?!

"My blankey!" she cough/wailed from her bed.

She'd dropped it just beside my rocking chair—part of her protest of being cut off from my maternal lap, I guess. Perhaps it made for a more dramatic exit.

Instead of picking up the blanket and traipsing into Miriam with a cheerful smile on my face, I stormed into my own bedroom and flicked on the light.

"Time to get up!" I said as loudly as my creaky voice would allow. "I can't handle life this morning!"

Andrew moaned and sat up. He's sick, too. But he wasn't head-butted and coughed on and sucked on all night last night, either. Staying up all night is a trump card in my book.

After waking him up, I grabbed Benjamin, rediapered him, and set him on the floor.

Rachel just said the prayer over breakfast. She prayed that "Mommy won't be frustrated."

Mommy will try. But Mommy's head is pounding. Mommy's body is aching. Mommy's finding it difficult to be patient and kind and self-sacrificing. Mommy wants a quiet house and a long nap.

I feel like I haven't blogged about the happenings around here in forever. And this is why:

Because my lap is usually full of coughing children—one of whom is so big I have a difficult time typing around her, the other of whom is so wiggly and whose sole goal it seems is to pound on (or eat...I can't tell which) the keyboard. When it's not I'm doing other things, obviously. Like putting diapers on little bums and carting blankets and tylenol and water bottles to various people. Or just nursing—so much of the nursing.

I'm very impatient today. Fortunately I can hardly speak so the number of unkind words out of my mouth will be few and far between.