We went there for the first time ever, two times last week (as incentive rewards for pooping in the potty, which doesn't happen often, and not hitting the baby, which also doesn't happen often). Or maybe I should say, "F*ck you, SpringFest!" that we attended at Delaney's school, along with about 200 other kids and their parents. Or, perhaps it should be, "F*ck you, three playdates!" that we had last week. Or even, "F*ck you, preschool!" Because somehow, somewhere, no matter how much Purell I used or how many times I scrubbed her little hands, Delaney caught strep throat.
I was really trying to stifle my germaphobictendencies by letting Delaney loose at Chuck E. Cheese even though I was dreading it, even though I was pretty sure she'd get sick. And she did. But you know what? The world didn't end. She's on antibiotics and will feel better tomorrow. I guess that's what I have to remind myself of. Kids get sick no matter what you do or how you try to protect them. They may as well have fun doing it.
And the plus side to this whole thing? She is NAPPING now, something she's practically given up. So, this kid-getting-sick thing? Not so terribly bad after all.
I had a dream last night that Lance and I met up at a kids' soccer game. Of course, of all the things I could have asked him, I had to ask if this is true. He told me not to believe everything I read and that he'd just fired his publicist. Thank God. That was a close one.
1. You know that your two-year-old likes chicken, spinach, peas, potatoes and bread so you assume she'll love them all even more when they're combined in Indian food. You would be WRONG. Next time you head out for that particular cuisine, you'd better come armed with a sack of kid-friendly chicken nuggets and french fries.
2. You've been feeling better since your first trimester passed and assume your pregnant body could handle something as complex, yet delicious, as Indian food. You would be WRONG. The remnants of Hurricane Indian are still passing over your battered insides and you're sleep-deprived from trying to weather the violent and all-night storm created by chicken tikka masala and sag paneer. Indian food + slow-moving pregnant digestive track = NOT A GOOD IDEA.
Heard from the toddler bedroom early this morning:
Delaney: Where's my balloon? (starts to cry) Mama, where's my balloon??? (cry turns into sobbing)
Heard next from the adult bedroom:
Me: (nudging Roger) Did you hear that?
Roger: Umph. Uugh. Uh, what?
Me: She asked where her balloon is! You know, the one I killed last night?
Roger: You mean the balloon she got at the store yesterday, that she worshiped all day and that you, in your typical paranoid freakout mode, thought was a choking hazard so you destroyed it as soon as she fell asleep? That balloon?
We're embarking upon our first toddler-assisted road trip soon to see Big Brother graduate. Before us stretches about 1200 miles of what I'm assuming will be pure toddler bliss as Delaney learns to love being strapped to her car seat for up to 10 hours a day. What? You think I'm crazy? She'll love it. See, we're borrowing a portable car system DVD player and we've got a copy of, "Charlotte's Web," Delaney's new super-favorite movie that she begs to watch all day, every day. I'm telling ya, the kid's gonna love it. Now, if I can just find my iPod earphones. I'm already starting to wish the spider dead as the opening credits roll.