Stricken

Dear Diary,

The BHE and I have both succumbed to the illness that plagued the mad man last weekend. And let me tell you, it is no picnic. I thought taking care of a sick baby was rough, but taking care of a healthy baby when YOU are sick is way worse. Mercifully, he took a long nap yesterday afternoon so that I could get some rest. But for the most part, he doesn't seem to understand that I don't feel well and don't have the energy to play "up and down" all day. This is his new favorite game, and it involves me holding him up over my head and saying, "Up!" then bringing him down and saying, "And Down." Much hysterical laughter ensues on his part and soreness of arms on my part.

Anyway. Why can't someone pay me to stay home and take care of Edwin? Not clear on that. My job is getting me down. Some days it's great, but some days it is the suck. I have a new boss who is a total douchebag. Well, he is a nice guy, I guess, but he is not so much with the offering of flexible schedules for mothers of young babies who sometimes need to be picked up early from daycare because of the hunger striking.

So I'm having a bit of a professional crisis. I suppose it's more of a financial crisis though, because if we could afford it I would quit right now. But then we'd be so poor we'd probably have to live in a tent, and that might be awkward what with all the dogs.

Love,
Fluffy