i haven’t posted much this week. there hasn’t been much that i can say without nearly hacking up a lung. my head is so congested to the point that when i blow my nose, snot comes out of my left tear duct.

like, of my eye… the left tear duct OF MY EYE.

not. even. joking.

according to my doctor, who diagnosed me yesterday with a “wicked sinus infection,” the reason our nose begins to run right after we start crying is due to our sinuses and our tear ducts all being within close proximity of each other. also, according to my doctor, since i can blow snot out of my left tear duct only, i must have a “loose duct,” whatever the hell that means. i didn’t really care. i just wanted my antibiotics and to blow my nose/eye.

my doctor also chuckled and suggested that i join the circus after i showed her how i can blow snot out of my eye, because “only a select few have such a talent.” i didn’t laugh.

a friend of mine on twitter made a reference to my cold as “the epic snot,” and she could not be more correct. i most definitely have snot of epic proportions. and yes, it is so disgusting.

jackson is sick too, which doesn’t make things any easier. being a sick parent at home with a sick child sucks big hairy donkey balls. like, BIG ONES. i feel so bad for jackson because the poor little guy can’t get comfortable, he’s getting his next set of molars, snot drips from his nose, and when he coughs so loudly, a part of my heart breaks off. it’s so sad to watch little ones be sick.

but then i’m sick on top of it… and in my opinion, sickies hit the parent worse than the child. i don’t know if this is because they have a built up killer immune system that has gone and died in a hole in adults by the time we reach are later 20’s, or what, but i feel like ass and then trying to keep up with my son makes me feel like the hole within the ass.

not. good.

both jackson and i have been to the doctor. he has a cold that i’ve been told will last him 2-3 weeks before he is entirely over it. THAT BLOWS. we have a humidifier running in his room. we traumatize him with saline drops in his nose. he has motrin for when his molars are bothering him. and we watch ice age 3 about 14 times a day so that he can be happy while watching the “BIG ELEDENTS” (elephants) his latest obsession.

you can be the one to tell jackson that they are mammoths and not elephants. i can’t crush his little magoo world any more than i already have.

paul has been so diligent and willing to help out in my exhausted state this week, taking time at lunch to come home and help occupy jackson so i can rest. he is currently enduring a tantrum (probably because jackson wants to watch “the eledents” and paul is sick of “the eledents” and holding his own) while i write this post in my comfy bed and cough up phlegm.

so there is snot on my keyboard, tissues on my nightstand, a z-pack on the sink in our bathroom, and groceries that desperately need to be purchased.

and now paul is getting sick. though he has taken airborne all week long, washed his hands constantly, and gone through multiple bottles of hand sanitizer, paul is coming down with this bitch of a cold.

so we’re taking shifts… errands… household duties… disinfecting… parenting… and still trying to take care of ourselves so that we can get well.

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how do you handle it when you’re sick and you have a sick toddler? how do you manage it all? do you manage it all? how much are you able to call upon your partner for help? and when on earth will i get rid of the epic snot?

correction: the amount of friggin dog hair that collects in every single corner and crevice within a 24 hour period in this apartment has blown up our vacuum. after trying to vacuum just now, i had to dig the dog hair out of the nozzle of the vacuum. like stick my fingers in the vacuum for dog hair. this was after the vacuum started emitting an odor of burnt dog hair that i ignored. so gross!

i digress…

when i went to the doctor last week, after getting my pap smeared and all that jazz, my doctor asked me when paul and i were thinking of having our next child.

first of all, why the hell can’t anyone just be content with where people are right NOW in life… when you’ve been dating for a while, people want you engaged… when you’re engaged, they’re practically pushing you down the aisle… then once you’re married, people want a honeymoon pregnancy… and once you blast out one kid, people ask you when you’ll have another.

OH, THE PRESSURE!!!

so, to answer my doctor’s question… “RIGHT THE HELL NOW.”

she laughed at me and then realized that i interpreted her “when are you AND PAUL thinking of having your next child” as “when do YOU wanna get knocked up again?”

no, i am not pregnant. yes, my IUD is still in place and fully intact.

but, i’ve got the bug. the uber-contagious super virus of a baby bug that seems to be plaguing more people than i realized, which of course doesn’t help the situation.

paul knows. and he chuckles at me. i even asked his permission before writing this post, being the ever-so-considerate wife that i am… wondering if i could ANNOUNCE TO THE INTERNETZ THAT I WANT ANOTHER BEBE!!! he still laughed. he wants more children too… eventually.

i want more NOW. i want to be pregnant again NOW. i want the preggers BELLEH again NOW. and i want the little nugglet of a new babe again NOW. i want the magoo to have a sibbling NOW.

i asked jackson if he wanted a little brother or sister. this was the response i got…

i took this to mean, “sure, why not?”

so i’m taking prenatal vitamins because it’s good for me and i like how it makes my skin flawless, my nails grow strong, and my hair shiny.

please excuse me while i go sweep up the mounds of dog hair that just exploded in my face and gag while doing so.

i’m a strategist when it comes to parking lots. when galavanting around this lovely town of annapolis in my itty bitty VW hatchback (complete with “peace and love” bumper sticker), i park with an agenda.

my car becomes a puzzle piece and it must fit juuuuuuuuust right.

when turning into a grocery store parking lot, i always find a spot near the grocery cart puter-awayer if not directly next to it. this way i can get the magoo settled in the car, load my loot in the car and then pop my cart over in the puter-awayer within a super short amount of time.

it’s quite remarkable actually, and i do commend my own timeliness.

when driving into a mall parking lot, i hunt for a parking spot that does not have another vehicle next to it. this way i can flip out the magoo’s stroller, plop magoo in said stroller, snag the diaper bag and any items i may be returning with maximum space around me and not fearing that i will scratch anyone else’s automobile.

when driving to a restaurant… lately this has just been to panera as panera is currently the meca for all parents during lunch time, i park next to a garbage can. this is because, like my husband, i too carry my beverage (let’s just say a sierra mist) to my car for a few final sips… but unlike my husband, i do not like beverages in my car. the spill factor is too much for me to handle when driving while jackson is throwing toys for me to pick up and give back to him. so i get my final few sips in and then toss my beverage in the trash can instead of leaving it on the ground next to the wheel of someone else’s car.

point being, i park with a purpose.

today, post-panera-lunching with jackson, we scoot through the parking lot to drop off a prescription to be filled (since i saw my doc yesterday and am addressing my grief and awesome anxiety). since i had no groceries to purchase, i did NOT park with my typical intentions and therefore parked like every other non-wackadoo human being on the face of the planet.

i parked wherever there was an empty spot.

it is when i am bent over 1/2 in the backseat of my car, one leg in the car and one leg out of the car, unbuckling the magoo from his car seat that this elderly woman CLOSES MY CAR DOOR ON MY LEG.

“excuse me,” i said to her as she attempted to squeeze in between my now nearly closed car door and her diagonally parked cadillac.

she says nothing.

dressed in what looks to be her sunday best for a trip to the grocery store, cranberry colored winter coat to match her cranberry colored prescription sunglasses and cranberry colored cane, it dawns on me that she did not hear me.

so i repeat myself…

“EXCUSE ME,” i said again still with my car door closed on my leg.

she acknowledges me, “i’m just trying to get by, kiddo,” she says.

KIDDO?!?!?

now i’m mad. she finds her way to the end of her cadillac and goes along, most likely NOT expecting me to talk back to my elders.

WRONG!!!

“excuse me,” i said for the third time. “could you not have waited the 45 seconds it takes for me to get my KIDDO out of his car seat before CLOSING MY CAR DOOR ON MY LEG?!?”

with the magoo now out of the car and on my hip, the elderly woman glares at me and says, “well aren’t you a little young and sassy to have a child of your own?”

my jaw drops and she walks away.

UGH!!! YEAH LADY, I’M ALSO YOUNG AND SASSY ENOUGH TO LEAVE A DIRTY DIAPER ON YOUR SWEET BOAT OF A CADDY TOO.

the magoo is not even 2 years old.

say it with me, THE MAGOO IS NOT EVEN 2 YEARS OLD.

this is incredibly easy for one to forget. jackson is a bruiser of a kid. he beats up on his 85 lb dog, scales furniture to the point of reaching windows, and makes forts underneath our dining room table because he likes to “be hiding.”

he is unbelievably verbal, already producing short phrases like “i got it” and “help me mommy.” his favorite word to say right now is “elephant,” a 3 syllable word that is actually recognizable when you hear him say it.

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side note: just now, the three of us were sitting on the couch when paul snagged a booger out of jackson’s nose and went to wipe it on my arm as i typed this post.

i threw my hands in the air and said, “DUDE, YOU CAN PUT THE BOOG ON MY SHIRT BUT NOT ON MY ARM.”

jackson climbed out of paul’s lap, turned around at both of us and exclaimed, “DUDE!”

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i don’t list out these stats to boast that my child is better and more brilliant than anyone else’s. i already know that.

i list out these stats as a reminder to myself that jackson is still so young. he is not even 21 months yet… 4 more days. he will be 2 in april.

the changes in our son occur so fast and furiously, whether it’s a physical change, leaving us begging his grandparents to ship us larger clothes so that we don’t have to buy them ourselves, or the magoo shocking us with his brilliance, saying “DUDE!”

so perhaps it will come as no surprise to you readers to hear that jackson’s big boy bed is now my nemesis. correction: it’s not so much the bed itself that i loathe, it’s the entire sleeping process that is now on day 7 of SUCKING. it’s the up and down and screaming and banging and unwillingness to get back in bed no matter how exhausted this stubborn child is.

dude, it’s not cool.

i am stronger when paul is around, keeping me from going in and rescuing my son from his torture chamber of a bedroom. given the abundance of diverse feedback i received last week, he and i had a lot to discuss and a lot to experiment with over the long weekend. in fact, we’re still experimenting… because we’re still losing this battle.

we listened to jackson scream and bang on his bedroom door for over an hour last night. the door knob contraption had been removed… a baby gate was put in place outside of his bedroom door. he banged and screamed and scratched and yelled for “DADDDDDYYYYYYYYY” for over an hour. i had to ask paul to turn the volume up on the tv in an attempt to distract myself with the golden globes (and a lot of wine) because it was so painful to listen to. and mind you, i’ve been listening to this for a week.

at 10:30 last night, i went in to check on jackson. opening the door super slowly just incase he had fallen asleep on the floor next to it, i entered his dimly lit room. toys and soft book were on the floor, covering his carpet. i walked over to his bed, found his blankets bunched up.. but found no magoo underneath the blankets or in his bed.

jackson had instead climbed up into the glider and was asleep on his back, legs bent like a frog, in the chair that his dad and i rock him to sleep in every day and night.

my heart sank. he was searching for comfort and i hadn’t provided him with that.

and so this morning, i sit on the couch, sip my coffee, listen to the magoo play with his daddy and sip his milk.

he’s still so young.

so… where does this leave us in terms of our magoo bedroom drama???

hell if i know.

currently we are discussing the option of “regressing” and putting his crib rail back up. perhaps our not-even-2-year-old is not yet ready for the independence a big boy bed provides.

perhaps the college applications need to be put back in the drawer for a while.

perhaps he is still my baby.

dude.