Metal Meredith

I told Phil on Wednesday morning that it felt like I had been paroled. My crime? Having sex 5 years ago. My sentence? Eight weeks at home this summer with my four year old.

On Tuesday, she whined at me one time too many, declaring “Ma-oh-a-um-UH (5 syllable Mom, by the way)....... what can I dooooo?.......... I am SO BO-RE-Duh.” Remembering that I only had 16 hours left, 8 of which would be slept through, I gritted my teeth and dealt with it. She barely scraped by, honestly.

At 3:30am, she came into our room (by OUR I mean MY because Phil doesn’t count when he is dead to the world asleep) with a stuffy nose and a slight fever. I found myself sitting straight up, trying to figure out what concoction of drugs would eradicate a cold in 5 hours. It was almost physically shaking at the thought of pushing her first day back one more second, let alone one or two more days. I dutifully slept in her room with her for 30 minutes, she came into our room and slept from 445am-545am, when she sat up and told me she couldn’t sleep anymore. Back into her bed we went until 730am.

She woke up groggy, but excited to go. No fever, still stuffy nose but without a stream of greenish goo flowing from it, her butt was going to school. She was adorable, I was a zombie.

*BIG SIGH*

Of course, there is no getting away from the ‘real’ Vivienne:

Even Phil was excited!

I spent my first free day running my butt off trying to get errands done that I had been putting off for weeks. I didn’t rest, I was exhausted. But the fact that next week she won’t be at home again....I don’t care if I spend the next 48 hours running errands, I have the next 8 months to get things done.

*Exhale*