Do you ever feel like you’re running so hard just to stand still? Like you want to stop because you’re not getting anywhere but you’re afraid of the alternative once you stop running.
Some days, I feel like I’m making progress, heading somewhere, and I know that because I can see the scenery change as I go. But days like today, I’m running on a treadmill. Running just to stay in the same place. The worst thing is that I don’t know how I ended up here or how to get off.
Which is why I don’t do treadmills. It’s too depressing.
Tru’s been down with another bronchiolitis infection and that’s twice in two months. He’s wheezing and gasping for air… again. First of all, kids are not supposed to NOT breathe because last time I checked, breathing is sort of a prerequisite of being alive. His stomach hurts and he refuses to sleep and calling him foul-tempered is the mother of all understatements.
Baby girl, despite her Rambo immune system, has also succumbed to the virus. I’m supposed to keep them apart so that the germfest will not have a chance to party. Also because putting two cranky babies together is like watching a pitbull fight. It’s a bloody massacre.
Except that there’s two of them and one of me. Which means I’ve got to choose between the two of them. Normally, I’d go with Kirsten seeing that she’s more likely to bang her head or stub her fingers but I’m pretty sure being in danger of not breathing trumps losing things like fingers or brain cells.
So I carry Tru because that’s all he wants me to do. All day long. He just screams and goes “mommy, carry me, carry me, carry meeeee.” Every few minutes I put him down and go carry Kirsten, who is sobbing like the girls in those Korean dramas who’ve lost their husband, babies, limbs, sight and sanity at the same time. Koreans redefine melodrama, but I’ll come to that later.
My kids, though, are having a competition to see who clings on to my ankles harder. Good thing I’ve got two of those so they don’t have to fight over that, thank God.
To top it all off, I just got sucker-punched in the face. Not literally, of course. Still hurts just the same. Maybe tomorrow I can stop running.
But today, I just hold my babies because it makes them feel better.
UPDATE: Turns out, I’m like some kind of psychic because I just came back from the doctor’s with baby girl who got sucker-punched in the nose. Literally. By her brother. With my iPhone. I left them for 30 seconds to warm Kirsten’s milk and in that time, they started fighting and Tru grabbed my phone and walloped her in the nose. I dropped the milk and ran back into the room to find Kirsten screaming and blood coming out from her nose. Which is right about the time I started to lose. my. shit. because after the day I’ve had, a bloody nose on my baby girl is like the finishing touch on this masterpiece.
The good news is that she’s going to be fine. I made the doctor check everything twice just to be sure and her nose is a little red but it’s not broken or anything. I’ve just got to keep a lookout for signs of head trauma.
Seriously, I’m not sure this day can get any worse.