I'm still sick. This has all turned into one of my horrible lung-gunk episodes, so I'm just the most useless thing.
I'm trying not to make myself crazy by thinking of all the things I could have done with three days out of the office. As opposed to what I have done, which is nothing. I tried to knit last night and that didn't even work out. I am too sick to knit. That's not right. I'm also too tired to follow the plots on the dead-body shows, and really, when CSI:Miami is too complicated for you, you're just done. The whole point of the dead-body genre is that you can keep up with it using only the tiny part of your brain that isn't focused on knitting or random web-surfing. Where you might find things like David Caruso Scolds His Cat About Its Lackadaisical Litter-Box Use. I so love McSweeny's.
I think I was the crazy lady at the OB office yesterday, the one who should just be reassured and appeased. I haven't been able to feel the baby move much for the past couple of days, and of course I'd convinced myself that it's because I'm wheezing so much and can't breathe and he wasn't getting enough air. And of course everything was fine, and they hooked me up to the fetal monitor so I could hear his heartbeat and have proof that he was moving around. I also got some high-grade preggo-friendly prescription cough syrup, which is totally helping with the whole 'getting oxygen into my body' issue, as well as knocking me out so that I can sleep.
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