Cough, Cough, Cough, Sniff

I have a cold. It's not a major one, and if I didn't have a kid, I'd probably just go to bed with some Theraflu for about 14 hours and wake up good as new. Unfortunately, the Princess would undoubtedly spend that time figuring out how to catch and eat the fish in our fishtank and pulling bookshelves down on her head, so I can't do that. Being sick when you have a child sucks. Not only do you feel like crap, and you can't do much about it because of the whole "I'm responsible for keeping this small person alive" thing, but every time she makes the slightest cough, sneeze, or sniffle, I shout, "Oh crap! She's getting sick! Stick a thermometer up her butt!"

I really, really don't want her to get sick, because my sister and her husband, the race car driver, are coming to visit this weekend and I'm already nervous about them staying in the room next door to the Princess's. They have no kids of their own and don't want any, and although they like playing with children, they aren't so fond of the screaming, whining, and pooping that go along with them.

Hopefully all will be well. And hopefully by tomorrow I'll be all better and not all drugged up on cherry-flavored Sucrets and lemon tea and can think of something more interesting to write. Like about how I had a huge crush on the race car driver when he and my sister were dating when I was a little girl, and how when I grew up, I spent years dating this guy who looks just like him (remember the old boyfriend from here?), and how then after that, I married a guy who looks just like him, and how I really, really need therapy.