Yeah.
So yesterday pretty much stunk up the place.
We started the day with gymnastics or I should say, Caroline started the day with gymnastics. My gymnastics career officially ended when Caroline was a year old and I attempted to do a cartwheel in the front yard for her amusement because hey! I knew how to do cartwheels 20 years ago. A fact that, as I crashed down upon myself due to lack of upper body strength, brought me little comfort.
Anyway, Caroline has had a cough due to cold for about the last week and a half. I’ve been waiting for it to get better, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t have to take her to the pediatrician’s office because, you know, GIANT PETRI DISH. I finally realized it was inevitable since it appeared a sinus infection had taken up occupancy.
She hasn’t seemed to feel bad at all. In fact, while I was gone over the weekend, she and P went to a football game, went hunting, and ate lots of candy, so I went ahead and took her to gymnastics this morning and we headed for the doctor’s office immediately afterwards.
We waited in the POOL OF BACTERIA AND INFESTATION for 50 long minutes before they called us back. This allowed plenty of time for her to play with the flu contaminated abacus while playing with various children coated in mucus.
Perfect.
They finally called her name and I hosed us both down with anti-bacterial gel. Mercifully, our pediatrician came in the room right away. She checked Caroline’s ears, throat, and nose. Then she asked her to take deep breaths while she listened to her chest.
It’s a sinus infection along with a helping of BRONCHITIS.
I am mother of the year.
I had no idea. And as the pediatrician gave us four different prescriptions to treat the various infections, I felt stellar for waiting so long to take her to the doctor. My only consolation is that she truly never acted sick. She has the stamina of a Clydesdale packed into 34 pounds.
I left the doctor’s office with a purse full of prescriptions, Caroline, and my guilt. I headed towards HEB to drop off her prescriptions and perhaps to buy some chocolate ice cream. I was driving down the highway when I saw flashing lights coming up quickly behind me so being the law-abiding citizen I am, I changed lanes to let the policeman pass me by.
He changed lanes with me.
Oh.
Superb.
I pull over, gather my drivers’ license, proof of insurance (expired, naturally!), and my sob story about my sick child. The policeman comes to my window and I hand him my offerings with profuse apologies and explanations of bronchitis and guilt.
Unfortunately for me, someone had amputated his heart.
Tickets. Two tickets.
One for speeding and one for expired insurance.
But GOOD NEWS! he helpfully explained, all I have to do is show a current proof of insurance and that ticket will be dismissed.
Hooray.
Also, he informed me that next time I get pulled over on a highway I should pull over on the opposite side of the road from where I pulled over. It seems that I had put his life at risk, not to mention the life of my poor child with bronchitis. Thank you officer, you’ve been a huge help.
We finally get to HEB to drop off our prescriptions and mill around the store for the 20 minutes it will take to get them filled. Caroline totally suckered me into buying her a stuffed dog wearing a Santa hat because “it’s the only thing that could make me feel better.” She named him Christmasy, although she could have named him My Mama is a Sucker.
I finally returned to the pharmacy window to collect our medications. The pharmacist gave me instructions for each medication and as he handed me the oral abuterol said, “Now, this may cause her to be a little wired.”
Caroline is always “a little wired”, adding the albuterol created an effect that made Richard Simmons handing out Deal-A-Meal cards look low key and sedate.
The best part is she has to take it for five more days.
Awesome.
By the time evening finally came, I wasn’t feeling so great myself. My throat is sore, I feel congestion coming on, and the whole day just kind of wore me out, what with the guilt, the bronchitis, the albuterol, the speeding ticket, and the cost of a prescription of Omnicef.
Then my phone rang and it was Gulley. It seems that she had made Triple Chocolate Chip Cookies because she had a feeling I was in need of a little pick me up. Ten minutes later she stood at my front door in her flannel pajamas, bearing a Ziploc bag filled with chocolatey goodness.
And all of a sudden the world looked a little brighter.
Never underestimate the power of a good cookie.
Or a teaspoon of albuterol.