I'm sick. I can't breathe through my nose (or, if I were speaking aloud, "I cad't breed true by node."), I have a wicked headache, and I have a fever of 102.

My left breast is engorged, rock-hard and painful.

My hopefully-temporarily idiotic husband asked me to have sex this afternoon. Um, gee, hon, would you like to schedule that before the next round of nausea or wait until after the next hacking, gasping coughing fit?

My 4-year-old is finally NOT sick. You would think this would be a good thing... but it means she's all energetic and snuggly, and I would rather peel off my own skin than indulge in a close hug.

My 11-week-old son is much better than he was yesterday, but I still have a hard time keeping him awake through a whole feeding. (See engorgement, above.)

My mother-in-law is leaving for a 3-week vacation to Italy on Monday. Her absence will be much appreciated - she doesn't live near us but has the capacity for intensive irritation over the phone, and seems to feel a need to stock up NOW on all the phone calls she would normally make over the next 3 weeks. "I hate you for living so far away from me, I want to see the kids more often." Our geographical distance is not a coincidence. "I thought breastfed babies weren't supposed to get sick. Maybe it's not worth the effort if Jacob is sick, so you can stop." First - yes, he was sick, but not as bad as Emily or me, so it's obviously helping somehow. Second - allow me to invite you to take a flying leap at yourself, what I do with my breasts and my baby is none of your ever-lovin' business.

I have soooooooo much work to do for school but all I want to do is hover a few inches above the couch, nurse on the left side, and whimper.

Ugh.

I don't even want to run away, the wind on my skin would be too abrasive right now. WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH.