I'll tell you what, Tony Horton's P90x ain't got nothin on the cough I am battling. My abs are like rocks. If I could find a way to use my lower diaphram to cough I would be sporting a bikini bod in no time.
I am thankful that this is the first and worst of my illnesses this year. There has been puke and colds and coughs and various other things floating around and so far I've escaped. All but this. And this isn't really so bad. My head is clear, my nose works, my ears are fine. I just hack a bit during the day and then at night...it is constant non-stop, gut wrenching seizures of coughs that make me want to curl into a ball and weep.
But I don't weep...there is no time between the last cough and the next.
Due to this, I am exhausted. No rest for the weary has a whole new meaning. My eyes were closing as I tried to lay out breakfast and lunch. The coffee is disappearing at a rapid pace and napping sounds heavenly. But Oh WAIT! Amanda hasn't napped in 4 days...since we went on a little vacation (which was fantastic and I am hoping to find time to write about). This is stressing me out. I am waiting till later to put her down today, but I am diligently hoping that this isn't the end. The end of my one hour a day. The magic hour where I can manage to get something done, sit for a few minutes to read, write a note, pay the bills, maybe fold a load of laundry and maybe, on a good day, catch a 5-10 minute power nap.
It's coming and I do not see any weariness in her little self. It is only me who is weary. I am coughing my way to a better me, while she is contentedly, if not energetically playing tinker toys with her brothers. Ponytails askew and freshly painted toes...content to be wide awake. I have a sinking feeling that this sweetness is about to take my coveted hour and turn my whole world upside down.
(to be continues)