So we're still in the process of getting back to normal over here. My mom took Reed to the doctor Friday, where they finally FOR THE LOVE OF GOD gave him some antibiotics and a prescription decongestant and expectorant for his nasty cough and snotty nose that he's had for at least a couple of weeks now. He really hasn't ever completely stopped being sick since he got the roseola. It's been a rough few weeks, especially with starting daycare right in the midst of all of it.
Daycare is going fairly well. Some days Reed starts crying when I head for the door in the morning once he realizes where we're going. Those days are very hard. It's indescribably difficult to drag my child, convulsing and screaming, out the door, force him into his car seat, drag him in to the daycare, attempt to pass off his limp, angry body to his teacher, and then just leave him. Kids really know how to work it, too. He reaches his little hands out towards me and cries and cries, and says "Mama!" frantically over and over. I rip myself away, run to the car, and take four or five qualudes to take the edge off. Some days I use water to swallow them, and some days I use gin. It varies. One day last week it was bad enough that, on my lunch break from work, I literally sat in Moe's with Jason and cried. I sat in the middle of the lunch rush at MOE'S, people, and cried in front of everyone through the entire meal, unable to taste my food. When something fucks with my ability to enjoy Moe's, IT IS VERY FUCKING SERIOUS.
On the upside, Reed has inherited his father's ability to sit down and eat an entire bag of tortilla chips. This is annoying to no end because I'm the kind of person who buys things in the grocery store thinking, "Hey, these will be good!" Then I don't necessarily eat them the moment I get home. I'll buy the tortilla chips, for example, and then within 47 seconds of getting them home, Reed and Jason will consume the whole bag, knawing off some of their own fingers in the process. Then two days later I'll think, "I'm going to make myself some tasty nachos!" I'll be doing my happy food dance, excited about the Mexican goodness, when I'll discover the empty, sad little bag in the garbage, and I curse the gods of Fine Sexy Redheads and Genius Perfect Almost Intolerable Smart-Assed Babies for sending those two to my care.