Killing me

 

Three weeks of kid sickness is not as bad as three weeks of me sickness. 

But it’s still pretty sucky. 

I keep telling Jason the decision fatigue is exhausting me: the vigilant monitoring and constant reevaluation. Should I call the doctor? Should I take them in? Does he have a fever? Is he developing an ear infection? How much more cold medicine can their livers take? Is that weird rash cause for concern? Should I make them do their chores? Should I make them do their school? Can they be around other people? What if other people come over but stay six feet away? Do I build up their strength with meat and potatoes or let them keep living on apple juice and popsicles?

Exhausting.

Add in the fact that my pulled muscle still hurts and my whole body is determined to be stiff and creaky, and I start ideating about getting run over by a truck.

Because that’s a whole new set of decisions. Are my aching joints a sign of normal aging, or something more? Do they warrant an appointment? What kind of provider? Nurse practitioner? Doctor? Chiropractor? Should I go off sugar? Should I go gluten-free? Should I sign up for a yoga class? How much more painkiller can my own liver take?

And what’ll kill me first: the kids’ germs, my own aging body, or the crazy that’s lodged in my brain?