For anyone who’s pondering doing this in the future, pregnancy and bronchitis do not mix. Take it from me. Ten days into my quarantine and sleep is nearly non-existent as I cough all night to the point of puking. And all those nice drugs that normally sedate you during such times of misery? Nothin’. You can take nothin’.
I’m heading to the doc today for my weekly checkup and I’m hoping she has a miracle cure. While I had previously prayed for Junior to make an early entrance into this world, I have ceased such supplications. I cannot imagine giving birth in this condition. I think it’s my fate. To not be whole when birthing, that is. With Haddie, I developed a benign tumor on my finger mere weeks before she was born. This resulted in surgery to remove it and excruciating pain during contractions. Convenient that it was at least on my middle finger so I could fully express my angst. But I didn’t even get out of diaper duty in the end. Bummer.
On Canada Day, I had to cancel the little baby shower/luncheon my mother-in-law had planned. And then I missed The Dinner Party of the Year that night by a friend who spends weeks preparing the most amazing gourmet cuisine. I insisted Jamie and Haddie go without me and spent my evening comatose on the couch watching “The Notebook.”
Note: pregnancy + bronchitis + sappy, contrived love story do not mix. The result is ugly. Or as in what Oprah calls The Ugly Cry. Noo, not gently weeping like those heroines of days gone by but rather, those convulsing, uncontrollable sobs. The kind that make men really uncomfortable as they mumble, “Oh crap…she’s freaking out. What am I supposed to do now?”
And then there was Independence Day. Our house is in an ideal location: on a hill overlooking a huge soccer complex, which is where they shoot off the fireworks. Our neighbors got a permit to close off our street so the plan was to have an ongoing block party all night long. It was the one day I have been looking forward to.
And you know what? It rained. And rained. And rained. It was the second time in several months we have had a torrential downpour. You will recall the only other time was when I was supposed to have my R&R weekend while everyone went camping. And it never happened, of course. A mere coincidence? I think not.
Fortunately, I’m starting to see humor in all these misfortunes. I mean really, what else could go wrong? As someone joked tonight when they saw me miserably hacking away whilst huddling up to avoid the rain: “Someone should just put her out of her misery now.” They don’t call me “Amber Murphy” (as in Murphy’s Law) for nothin’….
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 