Hell, I can't even cop to being beautiful on the outside at this point, the usual safety net I keep in place because I'm normally a freaking mess on the inside and yet you'd never ever know it.
I did manage to brush my teeth. At 1 pm.
Still. not. showered. Yuck. Bathrobe. It was Cole's and I stole it so it's mine now. It's huge. It's warm.
Hair is a lank disaster. Coughing every ten seconds hard enough to rattle my brain inside my skull and make my whole forehead pound. The chills are starting up again which means the fever won't be far behind.
Jacob has called every five minutes, just to make sure I'm conscious. Reminders to eat every time and I'm not. Reminders to take it easy and I am trying. The fevers scare the fuck out of him, with the baby. I was a shell, sitting and watching kids movies while they cough and cough between medicines and surfing the net aimlessly with nothing to be read through tired, weepy eyes.
The dinner fairy will be here in about an hour and I officially mark the third time in seven years that I have been completely bested by an illness to the point where I couldn't do a thing.
So pretty. I'm hoping he keeps the visuals from Tuesday night in his head, when I felt like a million bucks and looked like it too. And here I spent an entire spring and summer fighting my way through a life I didn't believe could get any more incredible or any more terrible and somehow I did it, and now I'm bested by being pregnant and having the fucking flu. I don't believe myself and I've been reduced at last to hiding in my room pretending I'm writing while the kids watch a movie downstairs and they don't have to see me cry like a baby because I'm so sick and there's no one here right now.
Drama queen indeed.
