NOT curled up in a ball, cursing the universe..

Just so we are all clear on that.

I'm actually feeling pretty good about the whole baby-nazi "No-More-Babies-For-You!!" routine the universe had dealt us. I have my moments, but all in all, I am pretty upbeat and finding a LOT of positives to being "one and done." Hello, no ban on sushi or red wine EVEREVEREVER again. And the fact that I average about 7-8 hours of sleep a night right now really softens the blow that I will never again be awoken 5 times a night to whip my boob out. So, there's that.

But I've not been blogging the past few days because the universe, whose infinite wisdom I've been praising these past few days, has seen fit to strike me with ebola the flu. Yesterday morning I woke with that floaty, achey feeling in my head and scratchy throat. I sensed a day of pure flu-y bliss encroaching. And sure enough, by 5pm, I was rocking a 102 degree fever and my skin hurt. Can anyone explain that one? WHY does your skin hurt when you have the flu?! Because that is just about the worst symptom I can think of. Localized pain sucks, but at least it's just in one place. But your skin?! People, it's EVERYWHERE! Ugh.

So maybe I am curled up in a ball, cursing the universe, but not for the reason you might think.

Husband, who is a freaking rock star, entertained Ethan all day (although I do believe he got some help from our next door neighbors who were planting watermelon and snap pea seeds today. They are WAY better parents when it comes to the fun activities and I totally need to steal all of their good ideas and pretend they are my own.) and has handled all meals since 5pm yesterday. I'd brag that he also handled bedtimes, but he rocks so much he does that every night.

Hoping to feel better tomorrow so I can get back into the swing of things. Ethan doesn't have school on Monday and a few moms are taking their kids to Chuck E Cheese--you know, sacrifice your kid to the germs to save your sanity--and I am SO going to be there (provided I'm not still swilling around in my own petri dish of gross)