You know what I hate about kids? How much energy they have when they are sick. Seriously. When I’m sick, the last thing I want to do is run around like the Tasmanian Devil, but my children seem to consider that a necessary step on the road to recovery.
Butterbean was sent home from school today, and when I showed up to get her, she was practically bouncing off the walls. I was actually a little angry with the school – like, “you’re sending her home and she’s FINE?!” I was so convinced she wasn’t sick, I took her to the doctor*.
*I NEVER take my children to the doctor unless I think they’re probably going to die. It’s a pain in the ass; their paediatrician is an hour away, which means 9 times out of 10 (read: 10 times out of 10), I am schlepping them to a walk-in clinic or the emergency room, where I have to a) wait for a million hours, and b) entertain two miserable kids under the age of 4 in a building full of sick people who hate us. It is NOT anyone’s idea of a good time, and I refuse to go if there is even a remote chance that the doctor is going to say there’s nothing he can do. I tell you this so you know how pissed I was to drag Butterbean to the clinic just to prove how healthy she was.
Turns out? The joke’s on me. The Bean has an ear infection and a swollen tonsil and I’m going to have to keep her home from school tomorrow. I should be happy that she is in good spirits and her ear isn’t bothering her, but instead all I’m thinking about is how much it is going to suck working from home while she acts like a maniac on PCP. It’s horrible and selfish of me, but I would have much more sympathy for her if she slept all day like a normal sick person.
Skip to 2:04, and you’ll have a pretty accurate picture of how my 3 year-old is going to behave tomorrow.