Doodaddy

I hab a cohd.

Ten years ago, I usually only noticed that I’d had a cold the day after. As in, “Oh, I’m a little sniffly. I guess I had a cold yesterday.”

These days, though, my colds are anything but subtle: they send a save-the-date card ahead of the engraved invitation, then they arrive earlier than it said, then stick around after the reception to annoy the waiters. Stupid San Francisco: it’s July and freakishly cold, foggy, and wet.

(Coming into town for BlogHer? Bring a fleece. And a parka, maybe.)

I thank my lucky stars when a cold happens on a weekend, because it’s just ridiculous to imagine completing my usual itinerary with the aches and pains and whatnot:

• Get Boobaby up and stretch: 6 minutes.
• Dress Boo: 74 minutes.
• Change Boo’s sheets. (Most days, anyway: we’ve entered a highly liquid-diet phase): 5 minutes or 27 minutes (if Boo helps).
• Breakfast: 45 minutes. Or 12 minutes. Highly mood-dependent. During breakfast, toss a load of laundry in.
• Outing, class, playground, hike: 4 hours. Highly physical activity, especially the part where I try to force Boo to eat her lunch.
• Nap time: 2 hours. Relaxing? Hardly. This is when I blog, finish the laundry, straighten the house, and eat breakfast myself.
• Working Mom comes home! Yay!

This lovely Sunday with a cold, my agenda was roughly:

• Read Nancy Drew novel: 5 hours.
• Sleep: 4 hours.
• Grill burgers while reading Nancy Drew novel: 30 minutes.
• Sleep: 8 hours.

Sunday colds are one of life’s small favors. Monday colds are one of its true horrors.