I felt it coming for a few days now, but ignored it like it was my high school art teacher in the grocery store. Now I have no choice but to face the fact that someone broke into my house and clawed my throat with knives.
The worst part is that the baby is sick now, too. I was told that if babies were exclusively breastfed, they wouldn’t get sick. This was a big, fat lie. Why did you lie to me?
This morning Waylon woke up coughing, sputtering, and sweating like a college freshman who took his first shot of gin. I did the same. For a moment I wondered if we were both dying. After an hour or so of gentle jostling and the battle of the medicine syringe, we were both exhausted. He looked so pathetic that I immediately gave in and did two things I promised myself I would not do. I turned on Sesame Street and gave him his most coveted object, my phone. He was very pleased.
Now he naps upstairs while I sit here googling “how to make the baby not be sick” and “my ears are closed I hate this.”
Anyways, I’m going to go lie down.