mamas don't get sick

I'm gonna try to explain this, but I'm pretty sure I have a fever of 105 and am delirious. Not the band, they have a 5. Deliriou5. But me, the other kind. I can't be sure I have a fever, because our pricey forehead axillary temp thermometer from NASA (exaggeration) was pressed into service to repeatedly take the temperature of a small pink stuffed poodle, and then one time I saw it all exploded on the floor after Tristan Hulk'd it. I put it back together that time, but you just never know. The point is, I can't find it now and no one cares anyway. Why isn't there a thermometer on the iPhone? Come on Apple. Think different. Also, I want an adult playpen. Or like some kind of crib tent for the couch, so I could zip myself up in it and see my loved ones from a distance.

I had a sore throat yesterday, a little headache and such, and then this morning I felt as bad as I do every morning, so I went to my workout and it was brutal. I came home like the elephants do, just looking for a soft place to lay my mortal body down. The thing is, kids. 

They smell blood in the water, these ones. I curled up under a blanket, nauseous and shivering. They circled the bed, gravely concerned about who was going to pour the cereal. I was praying to not vomit, then giving it some thought, then agreeing with myself that not vomiting would be the way to go. Someone found gum in my nightstand and waved it wildly in my direction. I think I said okay, I can't remember. Then they are smacking, everyone smacking and I am trying not to envision the toilet bowl, because once you think about that, you are toast. I bid them go, but they are unmoved. Tristan moves in for a closer snuggle, and he smells like Morning Baby, which is a Bad Thing. After a while, something draws them downstairs and they are gone for a while. I know I will have to clean up whatever the diversion might be, but it's worth it. 

I feel a little better later, although my head still feels like it has a spike driven through my brain and my throat hurts. They are unsympathetic, jumping on the couch, spinning in circles, asking me questions about the universe. I give permission for things. Later I will find the remnants of a massive snack feast, one I suspected when Tristan was poking me in the face with a fistful of peanut butter. 

I'm trying to write this funny but I think my brain cells are being cooked by my blazing fever. I've tried sinus medicine and aspirin, the next thing will be the big guns, ice cream. Should you see the one my soul loves at his all day meetings, please tell him he should either buy ice cream or put a down payment on a mail bride.