You down with STDs? Yeah you know me!

What is it about this time of the year that seems to invoke the wrath of the Fates and douse my humble abode with plague after plague?

Oh there she goes again -- thinking the world is against her. No seriously. Need I remind you of this? Come on -- even I couldn't make shit like that up!

Two weeks ago, the Dog went away for a Brokeback Mountain camping trip with his friend the firefighter. This was our compromise for the camping trip he wanted to take a month after the new baby is set to arrive. So of course, as Scarbie's Law would have it, I came down with a nasty stomach bug about 3 hours after he'd left. I puked so hard I blew out every blood vessel in my face and looked like a Pro-Activ poster girl. (The mistake was trying to control the unexpected projectility and attempting to make it to the toilet to avoid a mess. Not recommended.) Nate did not eat all weekend, so he had nothing to barf up, but his hunger strike caused me great anxiety. All I could hope for was that the nasty blood vessel thing would last long enough to make my husband realize what I had gone through during his absence.

We made it through that week of recuperation and Nate's appetite slowly crept back up. In fact for the first time in his life, I was starting to get excited about how well he was eating.

The long weekend was approaching and the Dog and I had 5 whole days off together to get the nest in order. The bins in the basement were brought up and miles of baby clothes sorted. I found my summer maternity clothes from my last pregnancy! My living room and dining room were switched, much to the joy of everyone who has been thinking of it (Marla) and everyone who has spent some time in the new arrangement (my family).

Friday night, Nate slept at my mom's while we ate tempura rolls and then headed to our friends for some birthday drinks. (tea for me, wine for the rest.) I was exhausted from all the work around the house and decided that we should sleep over insteaded of walking my heavy ass back home. So I missed the call from my mother the next morning. Technically, I wasn't hungover, but sleeping in your friend's child's bed is the next closest thing when you're pregnant.

On our way to brunch, I called my mom. "Sorry," she said nervously, "I didn't mean to alarm you, but he was a bit warm so I gave him some Tylenol." I pretended we had slept in -- how do you tell your mother you missed her emergency call because you were at your friend's house -- it would be too awkward. I tried not to freak out that he might be sick again, assigned it to the teething category and decided to wait to see him before I made a judgment call on going up North to visit our friends and their newly adopted son.

When I saw Nate he was happy to see us, so it was hard to tell if he was sick. His nose wasn't really running, and the Tylenol had eliminated any shade of fever he may have experienced earlier. I checked his mouth after he complained that his tooth was "owie" and it looked as though his rear molar was rearing its ugly head.

We decided it was teething and that we shouldn't change our plans. First mistake. Then I ignored him when he uncharacteristically said, "No, I don't want to go see Unkie Croz." Mistake number 2. When we stopped halfway to get french fries and he didn't even have one, I turned to the Dog and said, "Do you feel like this is a mistake and maybe we should turn around?" "Let's not think about that," he replied.

We were both anxious to visit our friends. We had not seen them since March, right before they left for Russia to pick up their long-awaited son. The original meeting was supposed to have been the weekend the Dog went camping, but the stomach flu axed that. I couldn't bear missing out again because Nate had caught virus #137 from daycare. So I chose to ignore the nagging voice at the back of my head.

The meeting of the boys was lovely and we all felt complete and happy to have them together at last. But Nate was not himself and by dinner time he had a fever registering 38.5 C/ 101 F. I dosed him up with some Advil, again thinking it was teething and tried to put him to bed. He did not eat anything, but drank his milk.

The only way he would sleep was if I snuggled him like a newborn and let him wreak havoc on my nipple. If I moved even an inch he would wake up and start to scream, "No, no!" I spent 12 hours in the bedroom with my arm under his hot little head. Needless to say, I did not get much sleep.

The next morning the hell really begun. I noticed some blisters on his tongue and some swelling and redness of his gums. He was highly irritable and ONLY wanted Mommy. When it became apparent that our trip to the lake would not be the idyllic weekend we had anticipated (yeah -- what was your first clue Scarb?) we high-tailed it out of there and then argued down the 400 as to whether or not to drive straight to the Children's Clinic on the Danforth (open on Sundays, little or no wait). I sulked as we passed my two favourite haunts, the Barrie Value Village and the 400 Antique Market, with no chance for stopping.

"Would a call to Telehealth ease your mind?" my too laid-back husband offered. Um, no. This was not my kid. Something was really wrong. "Nate, do you want to go home or to the doctor?"

The Dog: "You can't ask him that!"

Me: "I most certainly CAN ask him that! Don't mess with my methods!"

Nate: "I don't feel well. Waaaaaah."

Me: "Clinic please."

The clinic doctor took one look at him and said, "So he has Herpes in his mouth."

Awesome.

Before you start imagining my toddler going down on the dirty girls at daycare, apparently Herpes Simplex 1, which many of us see as cold sores, occurs in small children in the form of severely painful blisters in the mouth, on the tongue, inner lips and throat. It's accompanied by a high fever and a lot of discomfort and means about a WEEK of HELL. Hoorah. All you can really do is dole out pain reliever and keep them hydrated.

Transmission may occur by:
kissing an infected child or adult, eating with contaminated utensils, mouthing or playing with contaminated toys, using a contaminated toothbrush, and exposure to another child with who has an oral herpes infection. Many children contract oral herpes by sucking on contaminated toys that have been used by infected children. Day care is notorious for spreading the oral herpes virus.

Awesome. Like I needed another reason to feel guilty about being a working mom.

Suddenly, I have a 25 pound newborn. I have held that child for 3 days straight. He has been napping in my arms, sleeping my bed, crying when I get up to pee. He has not eaten anything more than a popsicle or a Mini-go since Friday. So he claws at my chest like an infant, starving, desperate for nutrition that I no longer provide him. I have not showered since Friday. (You should feel honoured -- I gave up my chance to shower so I could blog.) I am 26 weeks pregnant. Sitting on a couch watching Cars the Movie for the 150th time with a thumbsucking, virus infected, nipple tweaker is beyong "challenging." It's making a trip to Abu Ghraib seem like a vacation.

K, this is getting really long, so I'll give you part two (yes, there IS part TWO) tomorrow.

Um, is that an elephant in the room or are you just happy to see me?

Yes, I’ve been AWOL. Yes, that’s not nice when people keep clicking over hopefully only to find the same “was funny the first time” tee shirts staring them in the face. Yes, I’m still pregnant. Yes, the baby is doing fine.

I, on the other hand, have not been so fine. I am tired. Oh sure, we’re all tired you say. I mean motherfucking dead-to-the-world-can’t-get-through-my-day-on-less-than-twelve-hours-of-sleep tired. I’m on the toddler sleep schedule, though I don’t get to nap from 1-3 when I’m at work. I have done baby and working before and it was tough. Baby and working and one very active, inquisitive 2 year-old – well that is another matter all together. A weeklong stay in a gulag is looking preferable right now.

Another strange metamorphosis has taken place. For the first time in three years, I am getting more satisfaction over a clean (yes, that’s clean by my standards) kitchen than I am by typing away at a computer. Say WHAT?! No, it’s true. Admittedly, the attempt by some illegals to move into my kitchen (a pesky colony of ants) spawned this newfound love of the domestic. The ants forced me to consult Martha Stewart’s Homekeeping Handbook – a book I once ruefully pshawed – and once I opened her up and solved the ant dilemma, I began to wonder what other tasks she could enlighten me on. Apparently a lot.

I have been furiously nesting, bossing everyone around in an attempt to get the house to a standard that I can live with come my eventual, inevitable “confinement.” I have been dreaming and scheming; pondering knocking out walls and building custom storage in my mind.

Unfortunately, we did the Dog’s taxes. This is the first year that he was the primary breadwinner. And being that he has his own business and he didn’t listen to me when I suggested he put aside at least 20% of his checks for taxes… we’re screwed. All the furious budgeting and debt repayment I had accomplished this year went out the door. The line of credit has been tapped and there’s no financial plumber that can fix the leak. Did I mention I’ll be making only 55% of my salary come August? Yikes.

But I am a woman possessed. The house must be done to avoid post-partum insanity. I don’t have a drug plan people, so a paint job is preferable. The line of credit will have to stretch like my hips these days, though I doubt that slathering Substance Belly Jelly (the new love of my life) onto the crevices where the dollars no longer meet will soothe my bottom line.

Missed you all -- more to come -- assuming I'm able to stay awake after I'm done prettying up my abode. A girl's gotta make priorities.