I have mastitis. I feel feverish and my breast is extremely tender. I have a call into my ob and pcp. God willing, one of them will take pity on my soul and just call in a script. Until then, I will continue alternating between being so hot I can't stand it and so cold my teeth chatter.
In other news, Ryan threw up this morning. He told me he was going to poop and instead said he puked. We didn't believe him as he was acting normal and neither of us saw anything. Then he did it again downstairs for good measure. At least he hit the toilet both times. He has had a cracker and a sip of juice and can be heard playing in the next room.
It never ceases to amaze me how hard this is for me. Within minutes of the words "my belly hurts" (tmi) my stomach insists on being emptied. I cry. I hate this in a way that is indescribable. The logical side of me knows that there is nothing terrible happening and that we will weather this storm as usual. The OCD side of me can't grasp it, no matter what. The OCD side of me wants to run away from my child when he doesn't feel well and it breaks my heart. It kills me that, no matter what, I'm not strong enough to push through my own issues to be the best mom for him. That i will spend the next week over analyzing every move he makes or doesn't make. That I won't be able to fully relax and enjoy him.
Sometimes I don't know what's worse, the anxiety or the guilt. Actually, strike that, I know. The guilt of not being able to be the mom my son deserves will always be worse.