Friday Confessions.

Well. Other than learning my father can make angel food cake (from a box, but still) and beautiful Simone coming into this world, I got sick. We’re talking fever, chills, cough, sneeze, worry about hydration kind of sick. So I took my first weekday off in about forever. That’s not a confession. I needed it. I ate healthy soup and slept and slept.

Because if my being ill, we didn’t do a damn thing for Valentine’s Day. Which I don’t really care about. That must make me some kind of Valentines Scrooge. But E is actually much more romantic than I am, and there was no real romance to be had with fever-sweaty me. Even a cuddle made me clammy with sweat. Gross.

I had such a fun weekend planned. The confession here is that I am massively immaturely resentful that I don’t think I’ll get to do a damn thing this weekend. I mean, the adult in me knows that when you’ve got to be less than thirty feet from a bathroom, you shouldn’t go out. Ditto fever chills, etc. But there are soooo many weekends where I don’t have big plans. Why now, God, whyyyy? (whine, snivel)

Anyone else feel like they were five years old this week?

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