Our Plan B Christmas

Croup* stinks. For toddlers, and also for adults. I know this because I’ve had it for 10 days and STILL have a fever, a horrible cough that keeps me up all night, no voice, and a runny nose that not all the Kleenex boxes in all the world could handle.

Merry Christmas to me.

PlanBXmas1Gosh, I sound like such a Scrooge, don’t I? It really wasn’t THAT bad. I managed to take Wrenn on a few outings during my week off, but as the week went on, I felt worse. And worse. And worse. And then on Christmas Eve, I felt like death, and between my germs, Wrenn’s germs (she’s on the tail end of croup – she got a 4-day head start), and a tummy bug that attacked one of my relatives, Christmas Eve with Mr. Right’s family got cancelled.

And then I had to cancel Christmas Day plans with my family, since I didn’t want to expose my two baby nephews to my germs. I’m not sure what made me more sad – missing Christmas with my family, or missing a chance to cuddle my 3-week-old and 6-month-old nephews for a whole day.

It was a total bummer, y’all.


Since we hadn’t planned to spend Christmas at home, just the three of us, it wasn’t like we had planned something awesome to do. We had no fun food to cook, so we grabbed take-out fried chicken for our Christmas Eve dinner. Thankfully, Christmas night, both of our moms dropped off Christmas leftovers so we were able to eat a proper Christmas dinner, albeit it from the microwave on a plastic plate. It was yummy nonetheless.

I was super bummed at first about all our cancelled fun may or may not have thrown myself a pity party on Christmas Eve, but then we wrote a letter to Santa, set out cookies, and the magic seemed to come back a little. Wrenn was REALLY into Santa this year, and also totally confused about why he came when she was SLEEPING. So silly, if you think about it. Girlfriend wanted to HANG OUT WITH SANTA.


Christmas Day ended up being pretty wonderful. Wrenn loved opening presents, and we all played with her new toys, took long naps, and got to briefly see family that night as they dropped off food. Mr. Right was able to sneak in two bike rides in that beautiful 75-degree Christmas weather, and I got to spend the day relaxing – something I, well, rarely do.

PlanBXmas3 Now Christmas has been put away, the pine needles have been vacuumed up (mostly), half of my decorations have been donated to Goodwill (yay for simplifying), and I’m in full-on New Year’s organizing mode. And I’m heading to the doctor tomorrow to beg him for SOMETHING to make me no longer contagious. I’m starting to get a bit lonely over here.

*I was convinced I had croup, but when I called my doctor today, he said croup only lasts about 5 days. He doesn’t think it’s croup – so it must be the plague. It’s the only other possibility.

Croup and Thankfulness


Poor sweet Wrenn had croup all last week. Like, seven days in a row of fever, a few days of that horrible seal cough (if you’ve been around croup, you know what I mean), lots of asthma, SEVERE FUSSINESS, and more snot than I knew could possibly come out of such a tiny girl.


It was a rough week, and yet, all I could feel was thankfulness that her asthma continued to stay under control. After last fall, when every round of asthma attacks got scarier and scarier… I have a different perspective on having a sick baby. All I could do was thank God that my little girl could breathe.

Now, excuse me while I go wash all the snot out of both of our clothes. And take a nap… or 12.

PS – Today is the LAST DAY to enter my giveaway for the free Adopting Dallas t-shirt. Details and enter here. Contest ends Monday, Feb. 2 at 6:00 p.m. Central.


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Weekend recap: A fancy night out, a trip to the ER, and twinkle lights

Oh my blog friends, what a weekend! It was one of those that takes you the rest of the week to recover from. Here’s a recap of our adventures – you’ll see what I mean:

Friday night I surprised Mr. Right with a fabulous First Father’s Day Date to our favorite gourmet restaurant, and showered him with a new car stereo for his 10-year-old car (he needed one badly). It had all the makings to be one of our best nights in a long time, until I took my first bite of dinner and got struck with a tidal wave of nausea (yea for lingering stomach bug at 36 weeks pregnant) and little Miss Wrenn moved into some weird position that had me almost barreled over in pain. Silly girl.

We managed to make it through dinner without me getting physically ill, packed up my almost untouched food and headed home (after a small detour to get some gelato, of course – Mr. Right knows how to cheer a girl up). We ended the night with me in bed, hugging a body pillow trying to coax Baby Girl back to a less painful position, and Mr. Right on the couch with an ice pack in severe pain from his bike injury. It was not the most romantic First Father’s Day, to say the least.

Saturday we headed to the hospital for an all day childbirth/breastfeeding class. After ten hours of learning about the beauty – and horror – of childbirth, and me still feeling nauseous and unable to eat much, we headed home for what we hoped would be a quiet, peaceful night. (note: Breastfeeding is so intimidating! It deserves its own post where I desperately need some advice from you seasoned mamas out there. Stay tuned.)

Instead, an hour later we ended up BACK at the hospital, this time in the ER to have Mr. Right’s bicycle wreck injuries checked out. They had gotten much, much worse, and when we showed our childbirth nurse the bruise on his leg (bruise doesn’t really describe it – it’s like you took purple paint and painted several square feet of his left hip/thigh, from hip bone to knee), even the nurse said we should get it checked out.


(I tried to snag a pic of all three of us in the ER. Sadly this isn’t even Wrenn’s first ER visit.)

I’m not sure if you should be proud when you have an injury so bad that you can actually shock the ER doctor, but we did just that. Every nurse who saw it just gasped. It was THAT bad. Thankfully, we got FAST, wonderful care (I work at a great hospital with some really great people), and Mr. Right’s injuries checked out fine, which means I will sleep much better (because you know I’d been up all night googling his injuries and had been horrified by what I read). Now he’s got some medicine for the pain and should make a full recovery in 6-8 weeks.

In the meantime, if you want to see the gnarliest bruise in the history of the world – call us.

We finally got home at 10:00 p.m. – exhausted, hurting, nauseous, and ready to retreat from the real world for a little while. And we did just that – we spent most of Sunday just resting and recovering emotionally from a stressful week. We did manage to have Mr. Right’s parents over for a wonderfully relaxing Father’s Day dinner (and praise Jesus my nausea was finally gone!), and then Mr. Right and I ended the weekend sitting on our back porch, admiring the pergola he built me and enjoying each other’s company under the twinkle lights.


Finally, we got our romantic evening we’d been hoping for.

A stomach bug, a bike crash, and an oh-my-gosh-they’re-going-to-let-us-have-children?!?! moment

Have I mentioned I’m 36 weeks pregnant? Like, hugely, uncomfortably, waddling pregnant?

Oh, and I’ve had a stomach bug this week. Which stinks anytime, but is especially not fun when you’re 36 weeks and hugely, uncomfortably, waddling pregnant.

Although between you and me, I’ve had it for three days now, and it’s still here, which makes me wonder if it’s not a bug, but a return of morning sickness. Please no. Anything but that. Lord, let it be a stomach bug that’s on its way out!

So I spent Monday home sick from work (my first day off since New Year’s Day – including holidays – I’ve been hoarding vacation/sick days like they’re going out of style to save up for my maternity leave). I’ve eaten nothing but toast, chicken noodle soup, and baked potatoes while chewing ice chips (drinking water? Ick – so gross). Luckily I’m an expert in nauseous eating, having had six months of experience. I should write a book. All you first trimester sick girls out there – call me. I can help.

So imagine me home Tuesday night, having crashed and taken a two-hour nap the moment I got home from a long day at work, finally sort of sitting up and eating chicken noodle soup and feeling absolutely awful. And my phone rings.

It’s my work – and I need to come in for something very important and unexpected. It’s just part of my job, these things happen.

But it’s less fun when those things happen while you’re home feeling (and looking) like death. I mentally started thinking about what clothes I had lying around on the floor of my closet that would look clean enough for me to wear in to work. Oh, and clothes that fit (there are very few that do at this point).

While I was on the phone, Mr. Right called me. He had been in a bike riding accident. Not just any bike riding accident – Mr. Right does the serious bike riding where you wear bike shorts and go fast on city trails and your bike weighs as much as Baby Girl did at 4 weeks gestation (translation – light). Poor Mr. Right went head-first into the concrete trail and skid on his shoulder, elbow, and hip, ripping and bruising the whole side of his body. Poor guy had to jump back on his bike and ride all the way back to his car, which thankfully was only a mile away.

Did I mention I was horribly nauseous, 36 weeks pregnant, and had just gotten an emergency call from work 30 seconds earlier? And now I have a poor, hurt husband with injuries that are yet unknown? Yeah, it was one of those nights.

I met Mr. Right in the driveway, watched him limp out of his car and helped him assess the damage. He’s going to live, although he looks like he’s been in a major bicycle accident, and he has a bruise that’s almost as big as my full-term belly and a limp that any pirate would envy. And there was blood – less blood than there could have been, considering his accident, but blood nonetheless, dripping from his elbow.

After he got cleaned up and we decided that there were no injuries requiring a trip to my ER (heck, I work at a hospital and already had to go), I left Mr. Right on our couch, ran into work, took care of what I needed to take care of, went and bought wound care supplies and a late drive-through dinner for my hurt man, and came home and finished patching him up. 

And then I climbed into bed, a nauseous, exhausted mess, and crashed (no pun intended).

I thanked God that the night wasn’t worse. After all, Mr. Right landed head-first on concrete, cracked his helmet, skidded who knows how long, and has no major, life-threatening injuries to show for it.

And then I thought – holy cow, all this, and we’re about to be parents too?!?! What the heck are we going to do with a BABY?!?!

You know you’re sick when…

You know you’re sick when…

1. Water is too much. Ice chips only.

2. Looking at your phone makes you motion sick.

3. Everything hurts too badly to read.

4. You gear up all your energy so you can go feed the dog.

5. Eating half a banana for dinner is really pushing the limit.

Here’s praying that all I have is a 24-hour bug, because I absolutely can NOT miss work tomorrow. And of course this is one of those crazy busy weeks with something every night and big weekend plans. I am determined that this IS only a 24-hour bug.

Now excuse me while I decide if I can handle the other half of the banana.

An ER visit, a car wreck, and 30 episodes of How I Met Your Mother

So if you follow me on Facebook, you’ve probably seen that my little sick week ended up with me visiting the ER Friday afternoon. Here’s what happened.

I had been down with a sinus infection for two days. Thursday night before bed I had a pretty bad asthma attack – something that’s commonly triggered by things like sinus infections and allergy problems. So I started breathing treatments with my trusty nebulizer, which in the past 3-4 years has been with me to Europe, Colombia, Mexico, and all over the US. I learned early on it kind of looks like a bomb on the carry-on x-ray machine. It’s a mistake you only make once, my friend.

I woke up Friday morning with more asthma attacks, and each got worse than the last. By Friday afternoon, I was home alone having my biggest one so far, when I texted Mr. Right, who was so nicely out running errands for me, and asked him to “Drive carefully, but come home and get me, we need to go to the ER.”

I got a quick text back “ok,” and then about ten minutes later, he called to check on me. Soon after he was home, and I met him at the door dressed and ready to go. Being the gentleman that he is, he opened the car door for me…

Only it wouldn’t open. And that’s when Mr. Right admitted to me that he’d just been in a wreck.

Awesome. Luckily the wreck happened about 30 seconds before I texted him about going to the ER, so it wasn’t my fault. Ironically, the person he was in the wreck with was on her way to the ER with an anxiety attack, and was in total meltdown mode. So Mr. Right had to quickly exchange information with a frantic woman, then head home to take his other frantic woman to the ER. He deserves a gold medal.

Thankfully nobody was hurt. And after a breathing treatment, a heavy dose of steriods (again) and a chest x-ray, I was back home on the couch, wheezy and agitatated but happy to be home.

A couple of take-aways:

1. Mr. Right is AWESOME in an emergency. He promised me ice cream the whole time we were there. He’s going to make an amazing dad. I was too sick for ice cream but settled for a big Diet Coke on the way home.

2. Going to the ER where you work is really nice, because you know you’re going to get fabulous care. But it also means that your coworkers have to see you at your worst, with no makeup and tears in your eyes. At least I wore a bra.

3. It’s ironic that just one week ago I blogged at work about my previous trip to the ER. It’s even more ironic when your coworkers who are taking care of you READ that blog just a week before (hand to forehead).

4. Between a giant steroid shot in my tushy on Wednesday and a six-day treatment of high-dose steroids beginning Friday, I have discovered that steroids make me an agitated, weepy mess. I cried at the ER (when nobody but Mr. Right was looking). I cried my way through a documentary about Elmo on Netflix. According to two friends who got the same shot last week, it’s normal. I’m normal. At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.

5. During my five days of being home sick, I watched an 8-hour miniseries on the Kennedys. I watched 30 episodes of How I Met Your Mother (my new favorite show). I watched the Elmo documentary. I watched the Five Year Engagement (didn’t love it). I watched 10 minutes of the LOST pilot before deciding it was too stressful. And I watched 3 episodes of Gossip Girl before deciding that those girls are just mean and stress me out. I am SO TIRED of TV. PS–I LOVE How I Met Your Mother – please someone watch it with me so I can share inside jokes with you.

6. Being sick meant I had to miss out on a trip to Oklahoma for my grandmother’s 80th birthday. Boo. Instead I watched 92 hours of television and made a quilt.

7. I hacked into Mr. Right’s Papa Johns account on Saturday and ordered myself a pizza while he was in Oklahoma. I forgot to mention it to him. The next morning he called and asked me, “How did you like your large 3-topping pizza, cinnamon sticks and Diet Pepsi, my dear?” Man, that boy knows EVERYTHING. (turns out Papa Johns emails you a receipt when you order.)

Please say a little prayer for me that I bounce back these next few days. I’m so excited to be going to Portland, Oregon for a work trip on Wednesday – five glorious days in the Pacific Northwest in what I hear is a delightfully funky town. I just need to get my second wind so I can thoroughly enjoy it.


It seems like for most of our first year of marriage, one of us has been sick. And by one of us, I mean me. We were just talking this morning about how we both knew marriage would have its challenges, but we had no idea that we’d be hit head-on by such challenges immediately. Like, the day we got back from our honeymoon.

In 2011…
A total of 5 months of one of us being sick
Having two mortgages
Selling a house
A burglary
Death of a loved one

But those challenges have brought such sweet, tender moments with them.

This week has been no different. Like I mentioned before, Mr. Right came down with the stomach flu while at the ranch, so for the past four nights, we’ve stayed on opposite sides of the house. If it were anything besides that stomach bug, I wouldn’t worry about catching it, but this one has completely wiped him out for five days now. So, we’ve tried to limit the germ spreading, I’ve disinfected the house, washed every article of clothing that we took to the ranch, and washed my hands until they’re almost chapped.

It’s only been a few days, but I miss him. Maybe it’s because we’re sappy newlyweds, or maybe it’s because I have an inherent need to be hugged by my husband… but last night when I got home from work, I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped my bag and walked straight toward my germy man and gave him a huge hug.

That moment may have been one of my very favorites of the past year.

Tonight he comes off quarantine, and I am ecstatic.

Good news, bad news

The good news: WE SOLD THE HOUSE!

Mr. Right and I are so pleased to report that the house sale finally went through on Friday! Hooray! We went out and celebrated in grand style Friday night at the world-famous Joe T. Garcia’s.

The bad news: I’m sick. Again.

I’ve been healthy since early May, but had my first relapse over the weekend. I spent much of Saturday in bed, and hope that resting all day today, along with an upped dose of antibiotics (I already take a daily antibiotic, but have now upped it to full-treatment mode) will help keep this bout short and sweet. We had our pictures made yesterday by our dear friends at McGowan Images, and hopefully with the help of photoshop you’ll never know that I was feeling kind of lousy and feverish. I can’t wait to see the pictures – even though it was 95 degrees outside, we dressed up in scarves and tall boots (well, I wore a scarf and tall boots… Mr. Right didn’t) and took pictures on our vintage bicycles and cuddling on Mr. Right’s great-great-grandmother’s homemade quilt. I’ll share the pics this week as soon as we get a sneak preview.

In the meantime, I’m lying in bed, catching up on Beth Moore sermons (almost finished with her Paul series) and sewing yo-yo’s. Tonight Mr. Right is hosting a testosterone-filled “man night” at our place, so I’ll be relocating to my parents’ couch… rumor has it there may be a home-cooked meal there when I arrive.

In sickness and in health…

I knew when I married Mr. Right that our vows included “in sickness and in health.” Mr. Right got to live his end of the bargain right off, when his brand-new wife was sick for four months straight. Even when I almost puked on him on our first date as a married couple, he stayed calm and cool and was a perfect picture of the supportive husband.

This week it has been my turn.
I love getting the chance to dote on my man, to take care of him when he’s feeling puny. But Sunday was a real test of my ability to be a good wife when he told me, all of a sudden, “I feel like I may throw up, can you get me a trash can?”
Not sure I was quite as calm and cool as he was in that same situation. Here’s how I reacted:

I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, grabbing the first trash can I saw (and dumping all of its contents on our bedroom floor), then deciding I should add a trash bag liner just-in-case, then deciding that trash can wasn’t big enough so I ran across the house to grab another trash can, then added a trash bag liner. Then I had to pick up all the trash I had dumped on the floor. Then I paced around and fretted over what I would do when I heard him puke, since I have a notoriously weak stomach and even though I’ve worked at a hospital for EIGHT YEARS I can’t handle blood or vomit (those who can’t nurse… advertise). I kept telling myself that a good wife wouldn’t let something like this get to her. That real love involves staying in the room while your husband gets sick. But I secretly prayed that the good Lord would save me from this one instance so that I could be both a good wife and a non-nauseous one.

And all the while, of course, worrying about my poor sick husband who obviously felt horrible.
Thankfully, the trash can was unnecessary. Hallelujah! (for his sake, of course)
Praying that my Mr. Right’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad sinus infection is on the mend soon. In the meantime I’m doing my best to keep him hydrated, doped up, and loved.

Say it ain’t so

I think I had the Swine Flu. Err, I mean the H1N1 virus. After all, one must be politically correct and not accidentally offend the pig population.
It’s ironic since I’m the girl who had the pet pig in junior high. Daisy the Vietnamese Potbelly Pig was the cutest little thing ever and made for great entertainment in our otherwise normal suburban upbringing. Okay, so there wasn’t a lot of normal in my upbringing, my parents also bought us a Chinese Goose named Casey… it was like the United Nations of farm animals at my house growing up. If only we had had a gold fish from North Korea, our collection would have been complete. 
So back to the swine flu. I got sick Tuesday, finally went to the doctor on Thursday, and the whole time was convinced that it was merely a sinus infection. Maybe bronchitis. I had a fever, but it wasn’t high, and it hadn’t been around long. I told him I was convinced it wasn’t the flu, so we didn’t even test for it. He gave me my decongestant drugs, along with some asthma medicine, and sent me on my merry way to heal at home. 
But now I’m almost convinced that it was indeed the flu. I had a fever that lingered for several days. My throat hurt, I developed a cough. I got severe body aches. Minor chills/sweats. Extreme fatigue. Repeated asthma attacks. It was just like last year’s flu, only about half the intensity. Last year’s flu lasted almost two weeks, this time I’ve been sick about six days. Last year I ran a high fever for 9 days, this year it never got over 99.5 and lasted about four days. Last year I could barely crawl off my couch to get a glass of water, this year I have been up and around a good bit, but tire easily. If this was indeed the swine flu, and I guess I’ll never really know for sure, I can assure you that it was a heck of a lot better than the regular old seasonal flu that just about wiped me out. 
I realize we should all be vigilant and wash our hands, stay away from sick people, etc. But I can also assure you that this flu bug was more of an extreme annoyance than anything else. It wasn’t worth shutting down a school over. It wasn’t worth mass hysteria. It just required a few days of popping Advil and watching hours of mindless television while lying on my couch.
But I’m almost better. I have defeated the swine, and I will live to see another day. I think I should make a shirt that says, “I conquered the Swine Flu!”
But first, I must go lay back down on my couch and watch some more mindless TV. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be back to normal.