The day began with me lifting Ella up into my bed and promptly falling back asleep, for who knows how long, until she could finally coax me down to the kitchen to make her breakfast. I made smoothies for us... which I hate to admit was the best meal we had all day. After breakfast I laid comatose on the couch while Ella watched Sesame Street... I think she watched anyway. I have vague memories of her bringing me different books to read to her, but I'm pretty sure I just held them steady while she turned the pages. Occasionally I would get off the couch to get her and myself some toast and orange juice, during each trip into the kitchen I would notice something new out of place, pots on the floor, plastic bags strewn about the area, you know, basic toddler-entertaining-self kind of stuff. Finally, after several hours of PBS and unhindered kitchen exploration, it was time for Ella's nap. Naturally, we laid down together. I napped in bed for about an hour and then woke up feeling pretty good. How exciting! I slept off the cold! So I fixed myself some lunch. Toast and orange juice. And sat down on the couch to plan the rest of my afternoon, where I promptly fell asleep upright. Eventually I woke up and finished my nap laying down, which is how Ella found me after her nap, which was, thankfully, unusually long for her. She napped until four. I pulled her up on to the couch to snuggle for as long as possible, but eventually she made me get up and get her a snack. Toast and orange juice. Lucky girl. My sweet Paul agreed to come home early, so he was home by five, and fixed us some dinner. I was in bed by eight.
My most vivid memory of that experience is waking up Thursday morning. I felt infinitely better. Until I walked around the house. I think a hurricane might have struck at some point while I was on the couch. So, I super-mommed it Thursday to put my home back together. Who knew recovering from a cold would have such far-reaching effects?
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