We've been sick here. Very sick. Having lived in a germ-free bubble for the most of the last year means that one of the twins invariably picks up a virus or two whenever we come into contact with the outside world.
This time I'm sure the culprit was water day held at the preschool's summer camp. What started like this:
Ended like this:
And this was only the first day. Back when it was still cute, and no one was losing their minds.
Today, we're perched on that precarious ledge between sickness and wellness. Yesterday, the babies were in great spirits, happy to be feeling even a little better and thankful for the reprieve. Today, they're already taking it for granted, plus they have cabin fever (as do I) and yet we're all too sick to venture out into the world again quite yet.
They have slightly more energy, but they still feel awful, and they blame me (of course). So that if they didn't see me cut the orange, then it's not the orange they want. If it's not the toast I buttered five minutes ago that's been eaten, but instead some shady replacement toast (of exactly the same caliber, in the real world that isn't a twisted toddler mind), the world has ended and the only appropriate response is to scream and yell and cry and carry on.
It's devolved to this:
It's cuter without the sound, trust me. So, it's going to be a great day. Just well enough to cause a stink and demand the impossible, not well enough to actually have the energy to play or do anything fun.
I pretty much feel like this:
But as captain of this sinking ship, I'm doing my darndest to keep it together.
Wish me luck.