Ahh....flu-y

Forget Forest's Momma. Life of a wommy is not always a box of chocolates. In fact, I'd liken it more to an infant diaper sometimes: you never know when it's gonna stink. Apparently the immunity gods turned a proverbial blind eye upon my return to work. Concurrently every out-of-work sickbug this side of the Mississippi decided to seek gainful employment in our household. In the few weeks that I've been back to work we've all battled the stomach flu, baby girl has since had a bad cough/yucky diapers, toddler boy has had yucky tummy and lingering cough, and did I mention that in the midst of it all darling husband's appendix burst? yeah. you read it right. burst. like pinata at 8 year old birthday party. thankfully he's healing and we all seem to be on the upswing, but since the same timeframe has seen a 300% increase in my client case load, I'm thinking that all wommy's (and waddy's for that case) should be issued a "handicap" card, much like golf, so that you can flash it prior to any public engagement. Do I mind public speaking? Actually, not really (which I hear is quite unusual). At least not if the subject matter is in my wheelhouse. However, let's all be realistic, regardless of how easy the topic is, small the crowd is, or accomodating the technology set up tends to be, NO ONE wants to stand up in front of (a jury of?) our peers when we're less-than-on-our-game. Two week streches of 1-hour sleep binges coupled with a myriad of bodily fluids marring every black suit I own, coupled with (quite frankly) just being worried about my little humans, tends to make one a little less than "game ready". Oh well, as my friend's favorite quote goes "The key to success is to bite off more than you can chew and chew it anyway." . . .I'm guessing the quoter, however, was not changing a diaper while he was chewing. . . . peace out -wommymel