“It’s probably a virus, and there’s nothing much we can do for her.”
Great, thank you. I missed half a day of work for this, which means I have to work half a day on Saturday? Fan-freakin-tastic.
Admittedly, when your 3-year-old starts screaming that her lady business hurts (yes, she knows all the scientific names for everything, she just chooses to use “lady business”, courtesy of DearDR) when she is peeing, you kind of figure something is up. And it’s better to go to the doctor than not.
And now, I’ve got a 3-year-old who seems to have no problem peeing when someone else is in charge, but when I take her, she balks and cries and says it is going to hurt.
The medicine I picked up at the doctor’s suggestion (takes the sting out of peeing; turns urine orangey-red) stains everything bright yellow. It is a pill, see, and I have to crush half of an adult-sized dose, then mix it with some kind of liquid and get the 3-year-old to drink it. That didn’t go over well at all last night, and now I have a bright yellow stain in the middle of my already-not-so-attractive kitchen floor linoleum. And she’s not going to be able to wear that shirt again.
I suppose I could ask her to snort it, but I might be prepping her for a bad habit later.
I am very tired, Internet peeps. And real peeps. And family members. I don’t think I have it any harder or any worse than anyone else — at work, at home, in my extended family. So, while I don’t want to complain, I really want to complain.
I’m tired. My head is splitting. I have been working from 7 a.m. to 4:30 or 5 p.m., Monday through Friday; I have to come to work on Saturday this week.
When I get home, it’s kids and house duty. I can’t get to bed before 10 p.m. even when I need to.
The children have gone to the doctor every month so far this year; some months, we have had to go twice. They have been on nine antibotics between the two of them, and had three viruses (at least).
DearDR works. That is what he does. He works every day, longer hours than I work, and he gets less sleep than I. On Sundays, he makes brunch and cleans the hell out of the kitchen. And, then, often works a little.
I’m tired. And I’ve got five more weeks of overtime to go. Oh, well.
Maybe it’s time to schedule that spa visit (DearDR got me a gift certificate for Christmas).