Smoker’s Cough

Well, nothing like a depressing blog post to make everyone squirmy and uncomfortable.  I roll around in my Mom-turmoil, thick with sappy depression and I like to spread it around a bit.  My life’s a lot like an episode from the United States of Shannon.  As such, two months ago I received the award for Best Performance in a Stomach Bug Outbreak, another story for another time, but I digress.  What can I say?  I’m moody.  A life changing event, raising two boys and starting a new career can do that. 

Today I’m feeling happy, albeit punch-drunk from a lack of sleep.  Max has the pre-school smoker’s cough.  He was up three times last night.  I feverishly tried to steam, prop-up and Vick’s-rub the cough out of him.  I listened to him hack through the baby monitor for hours.  If I didn’t know better, I’d swear circle time at his pre-school looked like this:

I played hide-and-seek with Sleep at 3:30am and waved the white flag of defeat at the sound of the alarm at six.   At 7:45am, after taking Boy Oneder to school, Max plopped on the couch and declared today a pajama day. 

I’m right with ya, buddy.