Sucker Punched

This week I was sucker punched.

Sucker punched by a monster fever.

A 103* monster fever.

This is where I spent most of my time.

I could barely sit up.

I did no reading.

No blogs. No books.

I did not drink any beer. Or wine.

I entered the kitchen for juice.

And drugs.

My drug of choice: NyQuil.

NyQuil is an excellent cocktail substitution.

I subsisted on hot & sour soup.

Oatmeal.

Toast.

No vegetables.

One Dr. Pepper float.

My children love me.

They took the words "eat whatever you want, just be quiet" to heart; A week-long run of lunches consisting of SunChips, fruit snax, and juice boxes was the result.

My children hate me.

This was evidenced by the vast quantities of dishware needed to serve SunChips, fruit snax, and juice boxes. Along with the number of daily wardrobe changes. And toy props that littered every room of our home.

I watched Bull Durham at 3am while waiting for the next NyQuil dose to kick in.

Nanny McPhee seemed to be on at all other times. Every single day. I'm not sure if that's my fever memory or true reality.

I finally had a legitimate excuse to put off folding laundry. I'm still milking that one.

Our cats started to mistake me for some sort of human pillow. I would wake with one camped out on my back. My stomach. My chest. Snuggled in my arm pit.

Purr. Purr. Purr. I'm still not a cat person. But they make OK bed partners in times of fevered delirium.

In my delirium, I kept dreaming that I made a slew of inappropriate posts on Twitter and Facebook. Turns out, I'm not a sleep-Tweeter. Or sleep-status updater.

I might not have made inappropriate updates, but my spelling and overall grammar did not fare well.

As my delirium continued, I wondered if I'd been made into a horcrux.

The Girl is now the favored child. I woke up more than once with her rubbing my feet.

The Boy needs to understand that asking a woman if she's going to "make herself look good" when sick will one day get him punched in the face.

I am his mother. I used self control.

I spent a lot of time looking for subtle signs of the monster fever's next victim.

The Mr. was convinced he was the next to go. All that anniversary canoodling was sure to come back to haunt him.

My fever broke late Friday night.

No other victims have succumbed to its destruction.

I celebrated last night with a non-NyQuil cocktail.

And today I made my bed.