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The past few days, recapped:

1. On Saturday, we went to my cousin’s house for baby Austin’s first birthday! I can’t wait until Cat gets those pictures uploaded because man alive, that little boy was covered in frosting. It was a great party, and Catie always has so much fun playing with her cousins. There were many tears when it was time to leave.

2. On Sunday, Catie “helped” me clean the house, then we went grocery shopping together. Dave spent most of the day in bed because he just quit smoking and feels like hell. (Everyone, give him a big cheer: yay, Dave! You can do it! Hang in there!) He did manage to wake up in time for dinner, and we watched the Puppy Bowl because we are totally not a sports-type family. I mean, yay for the Saints and all that. New Orleans is my mom’s hometown and I do really love that city. But, watching a bunch of grown men slam into each other over a ball? Not my thing.

3. Catie didn’t get much of a nap on Sunday, so she was in bed by 8:15. (Hallelujah!) Dave was already asleep by then too. After I got Catie settled, I started to head downstairs, but I slipped on the first step & went crashing down the stairs. I only fell down about four steps, which is not that bad, but I slammed the left side of my back into the steps when I landed. I thought for a second that I had broken a rib, it hurt so bad, but I think I just bruised it. And I knocked the wind out of myself so hard that I couldn’t speak (because believe me, I tried to call for Dave, but I couldn’t).

When I finally regained my breath, I realized that I was probably ok and didn’t need to go to the ER, so I just scooted very gently down the rest of the stairs. I tweeted about it, and a couple of people told me to ice it. And when the Internet tells me to do something, well by golly, I do it. So I iced my back while I watched “Big Love”. (And incidentally, did any of y’all who watch it cry during last night’s episode? Or am I just a hormonal, injured, still-slightly-sick mess?) I don’t know if the ice helped or not, because my back still hurts like a son of a b**** today.

4. Today was Catie’s first day at her new daycare. We’ve been talking it up a lot for the past week, about how she’s going to have so! much! fun! there, and she was excited to go. Then we got there, and I could tell she was nervous. I got her all settled in with her stuff in her cubby, and she grabbed onto me and said, “I stay wif you.” I told her that I’d stay for a couple of minutes while we looked around the room. We introduced her to the other kids and the teacher, and we walked around, looking at all of the various toys and activities.

I spent a few minutes with her, then told her that I was going to go, but that I’d come back this afternoon. She said ok and gave me a kiss, but her shoulders were still hunched up the way that she does when she’s feeling anxious. I stopped at the door and turned around to wave bye-bye one last time; she gave me this tiny, tight “putting on my best brave face” smile and waved back. I barely made it to the car before I started crying. I’ve left her places before when she was crying for me, and that was awful. But this was harder in a way that I can’t quite explain.

5. I’m going to have to pick her up early, because there’s no way I’ll make until 5:00.

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Dear Blog,

I miss you. I hope to be back soon.

Love,
Cindy

P.S. Everything is FINE. Just crazy busy. Will write more when I get a chance to take a breath.

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Warning: This post is long, and full of whining. I’m sick, and this is what I’m like when I don’t feel good.

I know I’ve mentioned in previous posts that Dave and I were both sick while we were in England. It’s been pretty awful. For most of our time in the UK, we were both downing cold medications every four hours like clockwork, just to try to manage our symptoms.

We left Dave’s mom’s house on Sunday and drove down to London. We stayed in a hotel near Heathrow so we could be there bright and early for our 7:40 a.m. flight on Monday. I noticed that I was getting worse. My cough was so bad that it was making me dry heave. Because of my gastric bypass surgery, it’s impossible for me to vomit, but I could feel the lower part of my stomach – you know, the part that’s been surgically separated so it’s no longer attached to my esophagus – seizing up, and I knew that if it had a choice, I would be puking my guts out. That was unsettling.

Monday at the airport was a nightmare. We left our hotel at 5 a.m., trying to allow extra time because we knew there would be heightened security after that whole terrorist incident. We ended up standing in line for over an hour to get through the second security screening. And we were lucky, an airline employee came and pulled us over to the “exclusive” line reserved for first-class passengers because we had a stroller, and they needed to get all of the strollers on the plane.

Btw, while we were standing in line, every time I coughed, the old lady standing in front of me would look over her shoulder and glare at me. I started talking to Dave really loudly about WOW THIS COUGH SURE IS ANNOYING BUT IT’S A GOOD THING I’M NOT CONTAGIOUS, HUH? Translation: chill out, hag, I don’t have H1N1.

Our flight left over an hour late. The flight was pretty miserable for me. At one point, the lady sitting across the aisle from Dave passed a roll of cough drops over for me. I thanked her, took one, and passed it back. She said, “Oh no, you keep it.” Wow. I guess I was coughing a lot more than I thought I was.

The plane had a pretty bumpy descent and landing. Catie started to cry in her seat, and I leaned over to hug her and try to calm her down. Then, she puked all over both of us. And a little bit on Dave too, for good measure. Fabulous. This is why I always keep a change of clothes in our carry-on. We had to make a quick stop in the restroom for a wardrobe change before going through customs and immigration, I found a plastic bag to shove the stinky/pukey clothes in, and we were on our way.

[Side note to the person who had to clean row 29 of United flight 923: I'm so, so sorry. Really.]

Since our flight had been delayed, we missed our connection in D.C. Of course. I stood in line at United customer service for about an hour and a half, only to be told that sorry, the remaining flights from Dulles to Raleigh were all booked, but they could get us out the next day. Um, no. It’s less than 300 miles from D.C. to Raleigh, so we said screw it, we’ll rent a car and drive home. All three of us just desperately wanted to goooo hoooome. I had been fantasizing all day about sleeping in my own bed again. We found a rental car that had a compact car with a toddler car seat available, and off we went.

Three hours later, we were still stuck in D.C.-area traffic. Holy cow. It was sometime during that – when I was driving (or more accurately, sitting there with my foot on the brakes) while Dave and Catie were both sleeping in the backseat – that I realized that I had been awake since 3:45 that morning England time, which meant essentially 10:45 p.m. the night before on the east coast. And did I mention that I can’t sleep on airplanes? I kind of dozed for about 20 minutes, but that was it for the entire 8-hour flight. That’s a long time to stay awake, y’all.

We finally got home around 10 p.m. Catie was all refreshed from her car nap and SO! EXCITED! to see all of her toys that she hadn’t seen for the past 2 1/2 weeks, it took quite a while to settle her down. I finally got her to bed just before midnight and then crashed myself about 5 minutes later. I set a new record for myself – awake for 25 hours & 15 minutes straight. I don’t recommend it. And I have no desire to set that kind of record ever again.

Since we’ve been home, I’ve been really, really sick. I went to the doctor on Tuesday, he heard crackling in my right lung and sent me for a chest x-ray because he suspected that I had pneumonia. The office called me back yesterday afternoon to inform me that I don’t have pneumonia, just really severe bronchitis. Oh, and I have pink eye too. Because you know, I didn’t feel horrible enough already.

I woke up yesterday with a migraine so intense that I was involuntarily crying from the pain, and Dave almost called 911. That sucked too.

And you know, it’s not like we had big plans to party it up on New Year’s Eve or anything, but this is not exactly how I envisioned the big evening, either. Both of us in our jammies and coughing and miserable.

The good news is that Catie is continuing to do really well during all of this. She hasn’t shown any signs of being sick yet (although I’m scared to say that for fear of jinxing it), and her sleep schedule is all screwy from the jet lag, but we’re dealing with that. For the most part, she’s being totally sweet and lovely and well-behaved, and she doesn’t seem to mind at all that Mommy is phoning it in and just letting her watch cartoons all day long so I can lie around feeling pitiful.

She’s also taking this opportunity to explore her own sense of personal style, with hilarious results.

I hope all of y’all have a wonderful and happy New Year. And I hope to be less whiny (and healthier) by my next post. See you in 2010!

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Last night seemed normal at first. I got Catie to bed, checked my email one last time, took my melatonin pill and headed off to bed. Dave had left the TV on in our room, and “Dirty Dancing” was on. I ended up watching it that rather than going to sleep. Why? I don’t know. I can never seem to turn that movie off when it’s on. It’s one of those guilty pleasure movies – it’s awful & I love it.**

By the time the movie was over and I turned the TV off to try to sleep, I noticed that my stomach felt… wrong. It was hurting and cramping a bit. I thought it was probably something I ate, but didn’t think too much about it. I just tried to ignore it and go to sleep.

I woke up about an hour later in major pain. Seriously, I don’t even know how to describe it. My entire torso was cramping up, and it kept hitting me in waves. I didn’t know if I was going to poop, barf, poop AND barf, or die.

And even though it’s totally illogical? It felt a whole lot like labor pain, and I thought for a few minutes that I was going to end up like one of those women on I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant, and my big 15 minutes of fame was going to happen when Joel McHale mocked my stupidity on The Soup.

Seriously, I was half-asleep and in pain. Sound reasoning isn’t top-notch at 2:30 in the morning. The only thing that calmed me down is that I had a physical back in August and I’m pretty sure that the doctor would’ve noticed if I was pregnant during my pelvic exam. So the idea that I could be nine months pregnant and about to unknowingly deliver a baby? Well, it seemed a bit unlikely.

So… I’m not pregnant. Of course. I do, however, seem to have a pretty vicious case of food poisoning. No idea what caused it, either. I’m feeling a little better now – I had some chicken soup and a piece of toast, and everything is staying down, so I think I’ll live.

Dave very kindly got up with Catie this morning and took her to Target so I could get some more rest, since I had been awake and sick during so much of last night. They came back with a “get well, Mommy” present for me. A box full of miniature plastic dinosaurs. Just what I’ve always wanted. Oh well, the dinosaurs are keeping Catie happy and occupied, so I guess that’s good enough.

*That song is stuck in my head after watching Dirty Dancing last night. But believe me, my eyes are anything but hungry right now. Blech.

** Random thought: Is it just me or was Jennifer Grey way cuter before she had a nose job?

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Yesterday was a day of suckage the likes of which we haven’t seen for a while. FYI, this post is going to contain a lot of whining and it’s all very stream-of-consciousness blurted out by a crazy person in the midst of major sleep deprivation. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

1. We found out that we will not, in fact, have our money from the UK in time for our closing date on Friday, the 11th. The sellers have the right to completely back out of the deal and keep our earnest money that we put down, which we’re praying they don’t do. Hopefully they’ll just allow the closing date to get bumped further out. Again.

Meanwhile, this house that we’re currently living in has been re-rented, and the new tenants are moving in on Saturday, the 12th. So, we’re still moving out on the 11th, with nowhere to go. We’ll be putting our stuff in storage and then moving into a hotel, or with Cat & Tony, or who knows what. And then we also have to figure out what to do with the cats – our awesome neighbors have offered to help us out with them, so that’s a huge plus. Still, there are about 10,000 other details that we’re going to have to figure out in the next week. I’m not so much looking forward to that.

2. My dad’s cousin that I mentioned earlier is really not doing well. She has pneumonia, she can’t speak, they’re keeping her sedated, and the doctors expect that she’ll die sometimes in the next three days or so. I don’t know if I’ll be able to take off and fly to Mississippi for a funeral if Catie is sick and we’re in the middle of moving, but I’m going to try and do what I can.

3. Catie is sick. I’m praying that it’s just a bad cold and not H1N1, but the poor kid is really miserable. The cold triggers her asthma, so we’ve been having to give her medication through the nebulizer every couple of hours. As a result, none of us are getting very much sleep, so our house is not a very fun place right now. She started barfing tonight, but my Mommy Ninja Skills (acquired through countless other episodes of puking from this kid) meant that only one barf ended up on my socks, and none of them fully hit me. The rest I caught in a mixing bowl, and even managed to grab her hair with my other hand to keep her from puking in it. I’m telling y’all, that is talent. If only I could figure out a way to make money off of that type of skill… well, we wouldn’t be having issues with our house financing, that’s for sure.

* However, there was one good thing that happened yesterday: I got a job! Kind of a surprise because I went into the interview with zero expectations, but I’m going to be doing some freelance technical writing for a new, local software company. It should be a lot of fun, and the extra money will be really nice, so I’m excited about that.

But yeah, even in spite of the job news, it’s not so much a fun holiday weekend here with the sick toddler, terminally ill family member, and house troubles. I’m praying Catie sleeps a little better tonight, since I think that one solid night’s sleep alone would probably help improve my outlook drastically. Here’s hoping!

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A couple of months ago I went to the eye doctor and got glasses. While I was there, my doctor told me that she thought I might be showing early signs of glaucoma, so she had me come back and do a really gross eye test that involved a little plastic doohickey touching the surface of my eyeball. (And yes, that really is just as squicky and gross as it sounds.) However, she couldn’t tell much from the test, so she sent me to a glaucoma specialist. Great.

That appointment was a couple of weeks ago, and I can’t believe I didn’t blog about it, but I think I was in some sort of “lalalala-I-can’t-hear-you-lalala!!!” denial mode about it. It turns out that yes, I actually am showing early signs of glaucoma (thanks for the crappy eye genes, Dad!) and I need to have laser surgery on my eyes to make sure that I don’t suddenly go COMPLETELY EFFING BLIND. Um, yay?

The doctor said he could do my eye surgery on August 4th, then said, “You aren’t traveling anywhere between now and then, are you?” I said actually, yes, I’m going to Chicago at the end of July (I didn’t tell him about BlogHer, I was worried he might look at me funny), and he said, “Oh no, that’s no good. Ok, in that case, we have to squeeze you in sooner.” Apparently the air pressure changes in an airplane could cause the fluid pressure in my eyes to change and again with the blindness and OMG are you kidding me with this?

So, I’m having laser eye surgery next Friday, July 10th. At 4 p.m., which sucks because it’s not a daycare day, and it’s right at the end of Catie’s naptime, and Dave has to be there at the eye doctor’s because I won’t be able to drive myself home afterward and blaaaaah I so do not want to deal with this. Also, I have no idea how I’m going to be feeling after the surgery, but we’ve had two invitations for fun stuff that weekend, and I’ve had to turn them down just because I’m worried that I’m going to be feeling weird, or at the very least I’m still going to be wearing those giant protective goggle sunglasses from the eye doctor’s.

Yeah. Laser eye surgery. Yippee. But let me tell you, if I walk into that doctor’s office and see a shark tank (sharks with frickin’ laser beams attached to their heads!), I am SO out of there.

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I mentioned last week that we had a visit from my friend Brittany. What I didn’t fill in was a little of her backstory. Brittany shared her story on a website called Violence Unsilenced, which provides an outlet for survivors of domestic abuse to tell their stories. If you don’t know Brittany’s story, go read. I’ll wait.

Ok, then. Now you probably understand why I want to go back in time about 20 years to rescue toddler Brittany and to kick her father’s ass. Actually, I’d be willing to kick his ass in present day too. Doesn’t matter. But more than anything, I wish I could spare her some of the pain and suffering that she’s experienced.

Here’s the rest of the story: Brittany currently lives with her mom, three doors down from the father who abused her. He continues to be a threatening presence in her life to this day, and she lives in a constant state of fear and anxiety. It’s a completely toxic situation, and she needs to get the hell out of there.

The problem is, despite having a job (two or three jobs, really, if you count the work she does at summer camps with special-needs kids), Brittany doesn’t have the money to move. And like a lot of abuse survivors, she is not the most adept when it comes to asking for help. So yesterday, Brittany’s friend Aman enlisted my help to set up a PayPal account on her behalf, without telling her about it. Well, actually, he set up the PayPal account. All I did was send direct messages to every single one of Brittany’s friends on Twitter who I thought might help us out.

And you know, the Twitter community is pretty amazing. Aman opened the account in the morning, and by yesterday evening, we had already raised over $500. And I had several emails from people pledging to give money as soon as they get their next paycheck. We decided to go ahead and tell Brittany about the account, since it was obviously going to be way too big a deal to keep a secret much longer. She was pretty shocked, and I think I might’ve made her cry a little bit. (It didn’t help that we were on a video chat on Skype, and I had Catie in my lap, and I was having Catie say things like, “Britty, move here!” Manipulative? Moi? Never!)

If any of you want to help Brittany out, the link to the PayPal account is here. Even if it’s just a few dollars, it all helps. I just want to help my friend get to a place where she can finally feel safe, and where she can start to heal. Because absolutely nobody should ever live in that kind of fear.

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