Category Archives: Illness

Why is ‘food as medicine’ such a hard pill to swallow? 

Last year, we visited an ENT several times with our oldest. Nora seemed to have a cold or be congested for much of the late fall through early spring. When the rest of the family caught a virus and then got well, Nora remained snotty and stuffy.

During one fall illness, we noticed she was saying, “What?” after everything we said. It began to drive us crazy.

And so we started the first of several trips to the audiologist for hearing tests, followed by ENT appointments to check Nora’s ears.

Everyone concluded that she was getting fluid trapped in her ears again and again, and that this was causing the temporary hearing loss. The ENT recommended tubes.

“Of course they did,” said Liam. “That’s their job. If they don’t do surgeries, they don’t make money.”

Good point, I thought. It’s not like I was concerned about Nora’s hearing interfering with her speech or development. It was just really annoying to have to repeat myself. Eventually, things cleared up on their own. We ended up not scheduling the surgery.

For better or worse—yes, I’m that kind of mom—I hopped on the Internet to investigate tubes anyway. I admit I did read some stuff that said tubes really helped children. Like kids who hadn’t been speaking suddenly started making language gains. Or stopped having painful recurrent ear infections. But this was not Nora. Her speech was very much developed, and she wasn’t suffering from ear infections, just fluid buildup.

However, I read far more that said tubes didn’t help children. That kids continued to get infections. Or the tubes fell out, and kids needed multiple surgeries. There were even recent scientific studies suggesting that tubes might not be the way to go anymore. 

Fast forward to this past late fall season. We started having the same issues. During one long cold, Nora began having hearing difficulties again. We took her to a new pediatrician in Connecticut and she suggested we try to alleviate allergies by using a nasal spray and hypoallergenic bedding. While I do think this made some improvement, I started to wonder about food intolerances, as this was about the same time I was trying to help self-diagnose some food-related symptoms I was experiencing.

We saw the audiologist again and an ENT twice. At her second follow-up with the  Connecticut ENT, the doctor declared the fluid gone and ears clear in one breath, followed by “I think her adenoids are enlarged, though, and should come out” in the very next.


This was the first I was hearing about adenoids. The ENT said they were likely enlarged and causing the constant congestion and fluid. They were also likely responsible for her nighttime snoring and mouth breathing, something I mentioned at the last visit.

The doctor then—rather abruptly—handed me a form to sign to give permission for the surgery, and then ushered me and the kids into a room to schedule said surgery.

Whoa! Slow your roll, doc. I’m sorry, but this felt so rushed to me. Surgery is not something I’m opposed to if it means my kid isn’t going to have to suffer unnecessarily. But the rate at which we went from “your ears look great” to “you’re going to need your adenoids removed” was too speedy for my comfort. 

I smiled at the receptionist, took down some possible dates, told her I was going to discuss things with my husband, and then nearly ran from the office. I’ve yet to call back.

I followed up with my pediatrician, who giggled about the incident. Apparently ENTs are known to get down to the business of scheduling these kinds of things. Makes sense, given—like the hubs reminded me—this is how they make the big bucks.

It just didn’t jive with me. I’m the kind of person who is far more interested in discovering the root cause of chronic illness and dealing with that, than just trying to medicate or rely on surgery.

I talked to my naturopath a little at my last visit. And, I might end up taking Nora there to see her yet. But in the meantime, we discussed trying to remove dairy from Nora’s diet. For a lot of folks, both young and old, dairy can cause congestion and allergy-like symptoms, and even—yup—enlarged adenoids.

At first, I felt awful thinking about telling Nora she wouldn’t be able to drink milk, eat cheese or have ice cream. She loves these foods. Turns out a lot of the foods we love and feel addicted to may be the ones causing our bodies the most harm.

I posed it to Nora as a trial. I told her we were going to experiment. If removing dairy helped her to breathe better, kept the fluid at bay, and cured her bad breath (something else I’d read about co-existing with enlarged adenoids), we would likely stick to it. And if I saw no difference, we would go back to normal.

Within two days of removing dairy (we’re almost two weeks in), the bad breath was gone, and hasn’t come back. She hasn’t been congested, and she’s closing her mouth to breathe more at night than I’ve ever noticed before. 

And, the part I thought would be difficult—keeping her from food she loves—hasn’t been too bad. We took the cheese off pizza one night. She has almond milk in her cereal and French toast. And, we found a delicious chocolate coconut ice cream we all love.

I just don’t understand why, with so much scientific and anecdotal evidence from families, that the least invasive remedies—like removing a suspected food or food group—aren’t offered as a first possible solution, or at all. 

Instead, it’s: “Let’s schedule this major surgery. Put your kid under. Remove part or her body which is said to fight infection and which may prevent illness. And after it’s over she’ll bleed down her throat a little and be on a liquid diet for about a week. Oh, and it may work at solving her problems. Or not.”

Like I said, I’m not opposed to the surgery if it’s medically necessary. But I’d rather try my little experiment first, which will have no adverse reactions, except maybe a little disappointment, and potentially huge payoffs.

Money for doctors and procedures and pharmaceutical companies should not be the guiding force behind the decisions we are making about our kids and their health. 

It’s just wrong. ☹️


I’m feeling grateful for the fact that:

  • The last time I threw up was at 6:45 this morning…
  • The kids are all mostly feeling better, despite not having normal appetites yet…
  • The hubs—who’s the only one who’s not yet gotten sick—stayed home from work to take care of all of us today…
  • That there are just two days left in the work week…and…
  • That I’m sandwiched between the two girls right now, who are hopefully dreaming happily away.

Not looking forward to a likely trip to the laundromat this weekend to expedite the clothes washing that needs to take place in this house.

Be well, all!

The stomach bug strikes again!

What’s a mother to do? I thought after last year’s four-time (!) bout of the pukeys, we might’ve gotten a free pass this go-round. Sadly, it wasn’t to be.

Nora got sick yesterday morning all over her car seat while she was on an outing with the sitter. I ended up coming home from work early after the second vomit episode, which happened—gratefully—in the kitchen. I was present for times three through five, most of which ended up in the toilet. We had to do a sheet-change on one of the beds. At least it was early enough we were able to go to bed on time. Everyone slept well, and Nora was significantly better this morning. Still, I decided to take a sick day to stay home with the kids.

Midday, I was feeling GREAT that no one else had yet gotten sick. Could we get away with just one ill kiddo? Even though all three had been sharing a water bottle all weekend? Think positive thoughts!

When I went to get Frances from her nap at 3:00 this afternoon, I noticed bright pink chunks all over her sheets and blankets. Maybe even one of the library books, but they don’t need to know, right? Don’t worry, I won’t return it until the grace period for contagious live viruses expires. I never could get a straight answer from Frances whether she puked in her sleep, or right when she woke up. In any case, I threw her into the bathtub, stripped the second set of bedsheets, and went to wake up the baby.

At least he was well. Until…he wasn’t. Poor little guy. This is his first time with a case of the spit-ups as we like to call them around here. He doesn’t know what’s going on. I’m just grateful his little body cues when he’s ready to go so I can get him to the sink in time. As I write this it’s past time for his bedtime nursing session. I’ve held off because I know it’s just going to come right back up. And there’s very little that smells worse than projectile-vomitted breastmilk. Ugh. Just thinking about it is making me queasy.

I’ve been telling Liam for the past hour that I know it’s coming for me. I can feel the storm brewing. He thinks it’s all in my head. I guess time will tell.

Writing the blog post tonight seemed like a tall order given all that’s gone down in our house today, but hey—A post a day in May, right?

Gotta get it done.


Enjoying (?) a sink bath after his first spit-ups.


Sad little guy. But so snuggly! He’s never this still. We are loving the cuddles.

Lent is for fasting from gluten, writing, doing the laundry, and parenting at the top of my game, which—let’s face it—was never really tops to begin with.

It’s been A MONTH since I last posted. What?! How can this be?

I wish I could say it’s because I’ve been killing it at this parenting thing. You know—forgoing all else but the kids and putting their needs first.

But no. Sadly, this has not been the case. Take for example, the following scene from the living room last week, and you will have some sense of where my head has been lately:

The girls and I were sitting on the couch happily enjoying some screen time. Rowan was crawling about on the floor, playing with some toys. I was utterly absorbed by the content I was consuming on my iPhone, when Nora—disturbed by some movement in her peripheral vision—interrupted the melodious chorus of one of Daniel Tiger’s well meaning life lessons, and announced rather suddenly, “Mama! Look at Rowan! He moved the fireplace screen and he’s playing in the ashes!”

And here’s how I’m POSITIVE I haven’t been killing it as a mom. My first reaction was to say, “Nora! Go get him!” Followed soon after by the thought: Nora, how could you let this happen? (She’s been doing some minor minding of the baby occasionally).

As if my very mature and responsible almost five-year-old was to blame for my lack of watchful patenting. Ashamed at my reactions, I quickly got up, cleaned up my son, and shelved the phone for a long, long time thereafter. Like, at least thirty minutes.

Besides my parenting skills, writing has also taken a back seat, apparently. As well as laundry, cleaning, organizing, and laundry. Wait, did I already mention laundry? It’s piling up in mounds—both clean and unclean—around the house. The kids haven’t worn laundered or matching socks in days and days.

So if I am failing at all of this, to what have I been giving attention?


About time, right?

Part of the reason I’ve been away for so long has to do with some minor health issues I started having soon after we moved to Connecticut. In early December, after we’d been living in our new place for a little over a month, I started feeling nauseous off and on every few days. Of course, like you, I suspected I might have become ill with child. Thankfully, that was not the case.

Dizziness followed as well as frequent migraines. Then came some minor indigestion. What was going on? All of a sudden, relatively healthy me seemed to be in some kind of distress.

I went to the doctor and had some blood work done. The results came back normal. A return visit to the same doctor ended with him concluding I had IBS caused by the stress of the move and being home with three kids. He gave me two medicines he claimed were safe for breastfeeding. He seemed to discount my symptoms of nausea and migraines, while completely inventing others (One of the meds was for reflux, which I told him really wasn’t bothering me, after which he asked, “Is it worse at night?” Hello?? Did you not just hear me say that it really isn’t an issue?).

And so, I left feeling very discouraged. I figured I might try at least one of the meds because I was tired of not feeling well. I had already planned on NOT taking the med for reflux, you know, since I really didn’t have it. I googled the other drug just to make sure it was safe for breastfeeding, and of course, it wasn’t. I can’t say that I was really that surprised given that lame excuse for a doctor’s visit.

In near despair, I started scouring the Internet for resources to help myself while also trying to find alternative doctors.

I ended up putting myself on an elimination diet because I really felt like I had suddenly developed some food intolerances as a result of whatever was happening inside my body, and I wanted to see if I could pinpoint what was causing my distress.

I also found a superdoctor. She is an M.D. with a Ph.D. in Natural Medicine and a Master’s in Mental Health Counseling. What?! She’s perfect for me. And, I love her. I can’t believe it’s taken me almost thirty-eight years to fine her, but now I have. I will never leave her.

We’ve only met twice, for an hour each time. But she listened to me. With really good ears. She told me to continue my elimination diet and be aware of symptoms when reintroducing foods. Also, she put me on a pretty beefy vitamin and supplement regimen. 

Her conclusion, which I happen to value so much more than the guy with just the one M.D., was that stress, combined with an uptake in caffeine consumption along with lots of processed, sugary foods (hey, it was the holidays!), combined with lack of sleep (tandem nursing two at night), combined with malnutrition (not only was I eating crap food, I wasn’t taking any vitamins), led to adrenal fatigue and overall havoc on my systems.

Sadly, I’ve had to cut coffee out of the daily routine. It’s the thing I miss most. I’m also gluten-free, sugar-free, and mostly dairy-free at the moment. 

And…I feel great. I have tons of energy and almost all of my bothersome symptoms are gone. No more headaches, nausea, dizziness. Nada. And I’ve lost about ten pounds. Not that I needed to or was trying to. But still. With summer almost around the corner…

Want to know the side effect I didn’t expect? My stress and anxiety levels are SO. MUCH. LOWER. Crazy how food can be both culprit and cure.

So when evening rolls around these days and I wonder about whether I should write on the blog, I’m like, “Eh. I’d so much rather read a book. Or take a bath. Or just go to bed.” 

So, I’ve been taking care of me. And reading lots of recipe sites for nutritious and yummy food I can eat (which is why I missed the whole seeing the kid in the fireplace thing). 

My bottom line here: if you are someone who is struggling with any kind of chronic anything, get thee to a naturopath! Immediately. You won’t regret it.

Coming soon: How to get your kids to stop tattling. (I’m not going to tell you. Rather, I’ll be solicitating advice. So thanks in advance.)

Top nine signs our family is well on the way to being well again (I tried to come up with ten, but I couldn’t, and now it is late and time for bed).

Disclaimer: Liam wants it noted that he is not on board with this title. He is not convinced we are yet well. He’s getting the girls’ cold, and if I’m honest, I’ll tell you I have a sore throat now too. But anyway, let’s look at the positives:

9. No one has puked in our house in the past seventy-two hours.

8. The girls have resumed arguing with one another. I never thought I would feel relieved to hear them screaming at each other, but after days and days of listlessness, it was nice to see some energy and enthusiasm. Ah! There are the girls I know and love. Of course, now, after two days of it, I’m done enjoying it, and back to, “Shuuuuut uuuup!” (which I only say loudly in my head; on the outside I try to keep calm and help them to solve their own problems).

7. We all enjoyed two nights of home-cooked meals this week after days and days of eating scraps of crackers and pretzels, bananas and toast, applesauce, orange Gatorade and Ginger Ale, only to feel nauseous time and again.

6. We are now able to see patches of carpet in between piles of toys, papers, clothing, and balled up used tissues on the floor in our living room.

5. I once again have a drawer full of clean underwear and the girls have pairs of matching socks in their drawers (they were doing the mismatched thing for a few days).

4. Liam has his first golf outing of the season scheduled for this weekend, along with my dad and my brother.

3. The dishes are mostly clean and put back in cupboards, thanks be to God and Candace, a friend who wasn’t afraid to enter our home on account of the fact that her family got sick at the same time we did.

2. We felt solid enough to try drinking beer last night. After the week we’ve had, I’ll admit I had a hard time not chugging that delicious Magic Hat #9 like it was the first Natty Lite at a freshman dorm party in 1997 with Bone Thugs playing in the background. Why they kill my dog, and man I miss my Uncle Charles, y’all.

1. We got to leave the house and make a social call to my sister’s place last night. After days of feeling quarantined, we accepted my sister’s offer to cook dinner for us. The kids got to play outside with their cousins and got lots of fresh air.

However, right before we left, my nephew began to feel queasy. Oh no.

“It can’t be from us!” I said. “We’ve only been here for three hours! I know the bug we had is not that contagious!”

“I know,” my sister said, reassuringly.

Then she promptly scolded her boy for trying to give our girls goodbye hugs. 

“Miles! Leave the girls alone. You don’t want to give the germs back to them, do you?”

“Oh my God,” I said. “Can you even do that?”

Well, can you? 

I sure as hell hope not.

You. Have. GOT. To. Be. Effing. Kidding. Me.

The past few days have quite possibly been the most trying of my entire life. I know that’s a pretty bold statement, considering I’ve had my heart broken a few times, lost beloved grandparents, survived taking an engineering physics class, run half of a marathon, biked over major mountains in Vietnam, and birthed three giant babies without pain medication (some of the more trying life events that come right to mind).

I’ll be the first to admit that I get stressed out pretty easily. But I also pride myself on being able to juggle many balls in the air, so to speak, without dropping one. That being said, there has been ball juggling and dropping galore in recent days, and if just one more ball hits the floor, I’m afraid I’m going to need to check into one of those rehab houses used by Hollywood celebs for physical exhaustion, or whatever it is they claim to need help with.

OK. So let’s get into the recent events at our house. Things all began to go south this past Thursday. Liam and I noticed some swelling and redness that had begun to form around the little guy’s circumcision site, which only days before had looked great and seemed to have healed up nicely. I called the pediatrician’s office to describe the blister-like swelling, and they said they wanted to see Rowan, so I made an appointment for later in the day.

Then, while the kids and I were still at home, Frances, our middle child, started with a fever, general crankiness, and complete loss of appetite. And the oldest, Nora, had refused to take a nap. It was shaping up to be a good afternoon.

At the pediatrician’s office, I started to worry when the doctor asked if I minded her getting another doctor with whom to consult and check out the little guy’s bits. Of course, the doc was gone from the room for about ten minutes, which seemed like eternity to me since I had to entertain and distract an almost naked newborn who needed to be held, nursed, and walked around, an ill toddler who was grumpy and also wanted to be nursed and held, and a cranky, chatty, ants-in-her-pants preschooler who was bordering on defiant (this is what no-napping does to her).

While I paced the small office with the little guy, while simultaneously trying to verbally comfort the toddler and shoo away the preschooler, I prayed for patience, peace and quiet, and for the damned doctors to just get the hell in the room already.

When they finally arrived, the tag-teaming duo agreed that our boy will essentially need to have a fresh circumcision performed by a urologist when he turns a year old, since skin had begun to grow on his penis and reattach itself from where it had once been cut. What?!?! This will be done under general anesthesia, they explained. Again, What?!?!

When I asked what had happened, the docs explained that it was just the way Rowan’s body had healed. No fault of ours or the doctor who performed the circumcision. Hmmm.

You might imagine how this all made me feel once I tell you I never wanted a circumcision for our boy in the first place. Why mess with nature? I asked my husband. He won’t look different from other boys. Lots of parents aren’t circumcising their kids these days, I argued.

In the end, I let Liam decide and told him I would support his choice. Grrrr…I tried and succeeded to withhold any I told you so’s when I explained to him what the doctors had said. He offered, “I bet you’re wishing we hadn’t had him circumcised.”

Um, that would be a yes.

Moving on to Thursday night then. Once we got the kids to bed, we started getting ready for bed ourselves. As I was brushing my teeth, I began to feel nauseous. Perhaps it was just the three chocolate Easter egg candies I’d eaten, I thought.

Negative on the candies being the cause of the nausea. Three hours later, around midnight, I began a hardcore puking fest that lasted off and on six or more times until five in the morning. I’m grateful Liam was able to come lay in bed with us to keep an eye on the kids and on me as I alternatively puked and nursed, nursed and puked a feverish toddler and an unsuspecting newborn.

I was worthless Friday, so Liam stayed home from work. Again, grateful. Frances still ran a fever (which she will do, as she refuses all kinds of medicines). Gratefully, she nursed well, so I didn’t have to worry about her continuing to not eat or become dehydrated.

Nora then developed a crazy runny nose. It got so bad, she utterly destroyed two boxes of tissues, and grew a red, raw rash that extended from below her nose and up to her cheekbones on both sides of her face. We gave her some Benadryl, rubbed her face full of Vaseline, and sent her to bed.

I then went to bed hoping that the two bananas and two pieces of toast—all the solid food that I was able to force in my body that day—would be enough to sustain us, the breastfeeding trio, through the night. At least Frances’s fever had broken.

Around one in the morning, Frances got sick. She only puked twice, and it wasn’t nearly as violent or plentiful as my episodes had been. Grateful. And, we didn’t need to change the sheets. Again, grateful. See how I’m trying to find the positives, here?

Saturday morning everyone seemed well enough, but for me. Overnight, I had gotten a migraine headache that was just wicked. I thought my brain might be swelling and my body shutting down, having decided it was depleted, exhausted, and just plain done with life for good.

I chugged some much needed glasses of water and Gatorade, and then, a cup of coffee. Next, I forced myself to eat a lovely meal of spinach and eggs, peanut butter toast, and Ibuprofen (thank you, husband!). I showered, went back to bed, and woke up an hour later feeling like a million bucks, thanks be to God.

It was good timing too, since Liam’s brother and sister had just arrived from Connecticut and Massachusetts, respectively, to meet the baby for the first time.

Gratefully, Saturday and most of Sunday passed without incident. I seemed to be better, though my appetite still hadn’t returned. Frances was still striking on solid foods, but nursing well. Nora’s nose continued to run like a sprinkler, and she developed a loud, hacking cough.

We enjoyed a really great visit with Liam’s family. It was so nice, in fact, I burst into tears the moment after they left to head home. I’m sure my emotional state was made worse by lack of sleep and the stress of the past few days, but it’s hard living away from family and not getting to see them very often. Guess I should be grateful I enjoy my in-laws so much!

Moving right along. This brings us up to last night. Right before bed, Liam started looking pale and concerned.

“Are you feeling sick?” I asked.

“Maybe I’m just hungry,” he said hopefully.

I think deep down, we both knew what was in store. Sure enough, soon after midnight, Liam got sick. And then, Frances had a relapse. Again, we didn’t need to change sheets, only pajamas. I’m not sure I was feeling grateful at that point though, truth be told.

After we got cleaned up, Nora began a hacking fit in the other room, which led me to run the shower on full heat to create a steam room in the bathroom. I grabbed her from bed, even though she was half asleep, and sat with her on the toilet until her coughing subsided.

It was then that I wondered about the superpowers of mothers and all they are capable of doing despite not being totally well themselves, both emotionally and physically. Even when I think I can do absolutely no more, I somehow rise up and do what needs to be done to take care of my loved ones. It’s instinctual. And kind of amazing.

OK. Almost there.

This morning, Frances started with the cough and cold. Only, unlike her older sister, she is incapable of blowing her nose and generally taking care of herself. In fact, she is helpless and hopeless. She wanders around the house trailing Liam and me whining and exclaiming, “Runnies!” every time her nose begins to drip. Or, “Hold me! Hold me!” It is insane how much you can both love and be utterly repulsed by your children in the same instance. When I heard her whining ‘Runnies!’ for the hundredth time today I silently raged, “Will you please just shut the fuck up?!” while simultaneously gently dabbing at her nose and after offering her a genuine hug, full of empathy and all the comfort I could muster.

Liam didn’t head into the office again today, but he’s been working from home. I think the pukes are behind him, but he’s still pretty unwell. And pale.

I am happy to report that as of this writing, I feel ninety-five percent myself, not including the extra postpartum pounds my body is carrying, but you know what I mean.

Sadly, just in the past few hours, Nora has gotten the stomach bug too (insert exasperated emoji face, here).

Before the real deal, she must have run to the toilet fifteen times thinking she was going to be sick. For many of those fake-out times I was in the bathtub trying to relax. I found myself wondering as she cried wolf—I mean, pukes—if and when she finally did get sick, would it be callous and irresponsible of me to continue enjoying my bath through it all? I mean, she’s so mature and capable for her age. Surely she could see herself through the pukes while I continued to enjoy my soak?

In the end, about the fortieth time she came running dramatically—”Aaahhhh! Aaahhh!”—to the toilet, she did let loose all over the rug and her foot, in addition to the inside and outside of the toilet bowl. You’ll be happy to hear I did heft myself out of the bathtub to hold back her hair and gently rub her back, while offering words of comfort and encouragement (though it should be noted I did briefly consider staying put and coaching her from the warm water). Poor girl.

So. What’s left? I’m sure Nora has more in store for us tonight. One time of the vomits cannot be all there is for her. The baby, miraculously, has remained well—apart from the stress of needing a brand new circumcision in a year. I am hoping against all hope that he stays well. Given our luck, though, and the contagiousness of this stomach bug, I am sure we will deal with him soon enough.

At one point today Liam and I just looked at each other like we were ready to give it all up. Throw in the towel.

“Just don’t leave me,” he said, only half jokingly.

I laughed. As if I even had time to consider divorce! Although. Mexico had crossed my mind.

“If we can make it through the next few days, we can make it through anything,” I promised.

The question remains though: Can we make it? Or will one more unlucky event unhinge us both and require the local Children and Youth Agency to come and remove our children from our home? 

Please, everyone, get well. Before the rats catch on that we have food scraps aplenty collecting on plates and other dishes on our counters and tables. Before the film crew from Hoarders shows up at our front door, mistaking our house full of cluttered shit for a house with real issues. Before I run out of clean underwear. Please, get well!

I’m hopeful we’ll get through it.

Can you believe this springlike weather we’re having? And other causes for celebration.

After taking a brief break from writing to allow for copious amounts of vomiting, mixed with a twenty-four-hour headache, no appetite, bouts of dehydration, major Braxton-Hicks contractions, Tuesday morning heartburn, painful stomach cramping, chills, body aches, loads of sleep/catnapping/couch-sitting, extreme exhaustion/breathlessness, and general lousiness of physical and emotional condition, I am back!

Today’s post is dedicated to all the blessings I am happy to count right now after suffering miserably for the past forty-eight hours.

1. I’m feeling mostly human again, despite being utterly exhausted, and, well, you know, apart from the whole alien growing inside my belly thing.

2. When I stepped outside into the late afternoon/early evening weather today, it felt like springtime to my frozen soul! I unzipped my jacket and even let the windows in the car creep down just a bit. This feels nearly like flip flop weather, I thought to myself. It must be almost fifty degrees! I checked my weather app and saw it was, in fact, just 31 degrees, but “feels like” 23. Hmmm…goes to show what a little perspective can do. At least it wasn’t minus anything!

3. I have a fresh new haircut and newly painted toes. Yay for pampering!

4. The midwife at my appointment this evening assured me that the baby she felt, seemingly threatening to drop out of my body any day now, was not an enormous one, and in fact, might shape up to be a 7.5-pounder, at the rate he’s growing. While I recognize this laying on of hands by a midwife is not an exact science, this mama, who’s already pushed out a 9-pounder and an almost-9-pounder was relieved to hear the prediction!

5. And last, but certainly, not least, is the fact that when I came home this evening, I saw no evidence of mice despite random food items being left strewn about the house for days. Liam did a phenomenal job of holding down the fort with the girls the past two days, while I lay about moaning and sighing, but let’s face it, we were all in basic survival mode. Half-eaten bowls of cereal, random fruit peels, half-empty glasses of milk and juice, and lots of crumbs of I-don’t-even-know-what are littered about the various counters and tabletops in our home. Now that I am back to feeling like Supermom again, I will be ready to tackle the mess anew tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even surely, the day after that.

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s post: a continuation of the love story that began a few days ago, yet was so rudely interrupted by violent illness.