You remember that VH1 show, Best Week Ever?!? By referencing that show, does it show my age? Ah, well, hell….let me tell you the week I’ve just had.
Last Thursday – Sunday: We have had a trip planned to LA for several months so of course I get sick right before we fly out. Thanks for sharing your germs from daycare kiddo!
Monday: Work from home because I’m feeling like absolute crap and guessing my coworkers will be happy that I’m not going in to the office to “share” this with them. Went to doctor and confirmed that I have upper respiratory infection and because I’m still nursing, there’s not really anything I can take unless I want to dry up my supply. Bonus/plus side? My doctor was pretty hawt.
Monday Night: Husband tells me that his work trip, which was supposed to be a day trip on Tuesday will now last until Friday. Wake up in the middle of the night and I feel a lump in my boob. Don’t give it much thought as I roll over and go back to bed.
Tuesday Morning: Work from home again because I’m still not feeling great/hacking all the time AND am pretty sure now that I’ve got my second case of mastitis. My right boob is throbbing anytime I move around. I’ve been trying to hand express to get the milk out, and also put moist heat on it, but not really helping much. FML.
Tuesday at 11AM: Jump on a “catch up call” with my coworker, boss, and director to find out that the latest reorg puts me, my coworker, my director, and about 10 other people of our 25 person team out of jobs. I was expecting this, but there’s something to be said for hearing someone tell you “Congratulations – you’re getting laid off/let go/bye Felicia!” We were told our last day would be 2/29/2016…a day that occurs once every four years. What a special occasion!
Tuesday at noon: Mastitis is confirmed with slight fever and boob that is all red and inflamed. Call dr. to get prescription for antibiotic since I’ve been here before…thanks to my friend Angela for that suggestion because I’d have probably waited until I felt like complete and total shit, requiring a middle-of-the-night ER visit. Add finding new daycare to the to-do list because of massive issues.
Tuesday evening: Talk to husband and have total meltdown on the phone, complete with ugly crying, repeating “I can’t adult any more today”.
Wednesday morning: Still at home, took a sick day because I need to rest AND because I no longer give two shits about my (soon-to-be-eliminated) job. My idea of “relaxing”? Cleaning up my shit sty of a house. Relaxing fail.
Thursday: Finally go in to work and virtually no one in our department is there. I get it, with the happenings of this week, but we have 5 months until our last day…it’s a little early to start checking out everyone, isn’t it? Leave work early myself to enroll daughter in new daycare. Go to pick her up from daycare that we are about to fire and the ladies ask me, “Did you not bring any food for Viv?” Um, what?!? You didn’t feed her all day then and I see hardly any milk has been drank. Oh even better – they fed her food that we didn’t authorize, and they sound unsure of what they fed her. Let’s just hope she doesn’t have allergies to anything because I don’t know WTF she ate. Please, please, PLEASE dear God do not let me lose my shit. If I end up in jail, it will be a solid 24 hours before the husband can bail me out.
Friday: Inform daycare that we are pulling our daughter from them. Best part? When I pick her up a few hours later after working a short day, they even fuck up packing up her supplies. I was missing two bottles full of milk THAT THEY DIDN’T FEED HER. Husband had to stop on his way home after his flight landed.
Friday Night: Drank a beer and listened to my husband tell me all about his wild night during his business trip. I got to hear how they were out until 3AM, their dinner bill for 9 people came to $1,400, they went for drinks later (that was $500 alone), and lastly, but surely not least, they ended up at a strip club. I honestly don’t care about the strip club part, but way to regale me about your adventures when I’m stuck here, sick, and managing to (barely) hold down the fort. I love my husband deeply but sometimes I want to slap his fucking face off.
Saturday Morning: As I write this blog post, I’ve been awake since around 3:30AM. I’ve fed and clothed the baby, changed 2 diapers, walked the dog, got showered, and am currently writing out my grocery list. I went upstairs around 7AM with the baby, and the husband was still half asleep. He’d been sleeping for about 11 hours, and when I mentioned that to him, he replies, “So?!?” And then commented about how he was making up for my lack of sleep. How thoughtful, huh?!?
Conclusion: I need to buy a lottery ticket because my luck has got swing back up at some point, right?!? It HAS to…that’s what I keep telling myself.