nablopomo ends with a cough and a wicked headache
On Wednesday Z and I took time off from work and painted our living room mustard yellow.* It was like the paralympics of painting since we both woke up with horrendous sinus headaches and generic dreadfulness. The only thing that convinced us to try lifting our heads from pillows and our arms above our heads was the fact that we had been planning this for ages to coincide with my mother's visit and her generous offer to look after the children and keep Helena from diving head first into tins of paint.
And once we began, we were further motivated in our work by the OhShit realisation that we had a guest for dinner, making us feel like we were starring in one of those home renovation shows in which you have to finish the house before the owners return. A feeling that was only amplified by our guest's announcement that he would be early.
Still, we got it done and it's been pretty much the only thing we've managed to achieve all week. Helena is getting incresingly sick. She has a terrible cough which doesn't let her sleep. Last night she was inconsolable unless dreaped over Z like a hot, miserable, snotty shawl. It's four days since I've had proper sleep and my throat feels like it's made of ground glass and despair. My tonsils are nihilists and my sinuses are in sedition.
Tonight I will be self-medicating with wine and Modern Family. Tomorrow, joining the baby in lying on the floor and crying.
And once we began, we were further motivated in our work by the OhShit realisation that we had a guest for dinner, making us feel like we were starring in one of those home renovation shows in which you have to finish the house before the owners return. A feeling that was only amplified by our guest's announcement that he would be early.
Still, we got it done and it's been pretty much the only thing we've managed to achieve all week. Helena is getting incresingly sick. She has a terrible cough which doesn't let her sleep. Last night she was inconsolable unless dreaped over Z like a hot, miserable, snotty shawl. It's four days since I've had proper sleep and my throat feels like it's made of ground glass and despair. My tonsils are nihilists and my sinuses are in sedition.
Tonight I will be self-medicating with wine and Modern Family. Tomorrow, joining the baby in lying on the floor and crying.