Milla got better! Blessedly fast, actually. Like I mentioned, Baby Darth Vader disappeared a couple hours after they gave her a steroid shot at the doctor's office, and never reappeared. On Tuesday Milla was still clearly feeling sick, and she fussed and clung to me most of the day, but by Wednesday morning she was doing much better. Now she's basically back to normal, with just a tiny bit of leftover congestion and the occasional cough to keep the congestion moving on out. (Gross.)
I know it's been said ad infinitum by every woman in my position with a sick baby, but MAY-UN am I glad Milla is nursing. The poor sore-throated girl would not eat or drink anything for four days, and if she hadn't been willing to nurse I don't know what I would have done. I mean, besides tried harder to get her to eat and drink, duh. But it was so much simpler this way.
My mom didn't end up coming to visit because she caught the flu from my dad. I was bummed to miss her, but obviously it was better for her not to come and give us the flu. Milla was pretty much recovered by the time Bryan left Wednesday morning anyway, and 36 hours was not so bad. It wasn't so great, either, but we made it.
Right now I'm resisting the call of Farm Frenzy in order to blog (because I have, uh, so many important things to say) and Bryan is downstairs purging the basement. We've got these awesome shelves down there that he and my brother-in-law built a couple years ago, but we never organized them, just kind of shoved stuff on them haphazardly, and then more stuff collected and started spilling over onto the floor and before we knew it we had an enormous Pile of Stuff, practically unnavigable. We've talked for months about organizing it, the same way you talk about doing anything that's beneficial but not especially fun. "We should do more volunteer work." "We should read the classics." "We should clean underneath the fridge."
Maybe YOU think about doing those kinds of things and then immediately go do them (In which case why are you wasting time reading blogs instead of being productive? Don't you feel bad about this?) but I do not. I am such a practiced underachiever/procrastinator that I no longer even feel guilt about not doing those things. This is who I am. I am a non-doer. I do the things that are actually important and essential to my family's well-being but the rest of it, eh. Who needs the stress of self-created imperatives, you know?
We've never explicitly discussed it, but I've observed that my husband has seemed to be on the same page with me in this area. I don't do things; he doesn't do things. It works. Until the other night when he suddenly decided that he was going to make it his Own Personal Project to purge and organize the Stuff in our basement. And he has since preceded to actually do it.
I'm not complaining about this. I do want the basement organized and I'm glad it's getting done. But I feel the way I did back in 1999 when he graduated from high school and I had another year of the old grind. I'm left behind now. He's moved on. He is now a Doer. And I'm sitting here with my computer on my lap, surfing the Internet for a new handbag. Perhaps I should get off my butt and go help him.
Perhaps I should do it tomorrow.