So last night, my sister-in-law hosted a little girls’ night at her house.
Being the bum that I am, after working all day and being slotted to be at the hospital again at 7 A.M. this morning, I couldn’t muster up enough energy to put on some clothes that didn’t make me look like an overweight homeless bum and actually get out of the house.
That was a mistake.
Because as soon as I had made the decision not to go and said good-bye to my husband, who had decided that he would be the social one and head off to boys’ night, I settled into feed Jake. The little guy had been running a fever all day and I wanted to try to get him to sleep a little early.
But instead, I landed with a face and lapful of partially-digested spaghetti when he blew chunks all over me.
And then my darling middle child, who had crashed late in the afternoon, was up-I kid you not—until midnight. I slept on her floor until at long last, I finally saw her hand retreat from the waving position it was in for hours, to tucked gently by her side in sleep.
Of course, and then Jake was up all night, delirious and burning up, refused to sleep unless he was-I kid you not--laying completely across my chest with me rubbing his back. He literally would bolt upright up from a dead sleep and grunt at me if I so much as tried to slow the back rub.
When my alarm went off, I tucked Jake in next to my husband (who had returned, mysteriously, sometime within the middle of the night, leaving a pop bottle and his clothes on the couch?) and dragged myself into work.
Where I discovered that they were over-staffed…and I had to go home.
Morale of the story, people?
Never skip girls’ night.
Oh, and here are a few links for your weekend, if you-unlike me-can manage to keep your eyes open long enough to read them!