You Have Hooker Hair And Other Consequences of Pneumonia

So, I’ve been sick for about three weeks. It has been a Very Mucusy Winter Break.

A paroxysm of coughing, coughing, coughing followed by chills, malaise, grumpiness, piles of dirty laundry, children and dishes finally led me to the doc which led me to a chest x-ray. Bingo! Pneumonia.

The fun thing about having pneumonia is that it essentially saps any energy you might have that would ordinarily be devoted to personal hygiene. My armpit hairs are at the longest I’ve seen them since I decided to try to be a hippie one summer in the eighties. (I guess at the time I thought braided armpit hair would look good with an arm stacked with black Madonna bracelets?) And my hair, well, my hair looks like hooker hair.

“Hooker hair” is not a term I coined. It was bestowed upon me one day when I went to see my hair guy. I must not have washed my hair prior to that visit because he took one look at the back of my head and started laughing. Then he did a pantomime of a hooker laying on a bed, on her back, getting shtupped. I love my hair guy. I mean, who pantomimes a hooker for their client?

Anyhow, I explained to my hair guy that I had hooker hair  because the night before my toddler wasn’t feeling well and slept in bed with us. He is still nursing and he is like a heat seeking missile programmed for tits. So, I slept on my back and he slept on my chest and alternating between Shoon and Shoonahhhhh all night long.

The result, to be kind, is a hybrid Donald Trump camel hair hooker look. The sides look pretty normal, but there is definitely a nasty party in the back and on top.

Add to this the fact that two of the three kids are sick and disgusting themselves and our pug and kitten are working out their new relationship (which has resulted in the pug angrily marking the house) so the whole place smells like the armpit of a petting zoo.

And yes, I do make bad videos of my pets and give them stupid accents when I’m not feeling well. One must entertain oneself!

Aside from all of the kvetchy unpleasantries, a happy consequence of being sick has been all of the help from the husband and friends. Our dear friends David & Sarah have taken the Eldest into their family for sleepovers and playdates, and even delivered my favorite ice cream (Salted Caramel) which I begrudgingly shared with the husband from the amazing Salt & Straw. Never mind that the Eldest would like to be adopted by Dave & Sarah because their daughter is her best friend and David makes much better pancakes and pretty much everything else than I do, and Sarah is just way cooler than me. Which is true.

Our friend Liz has been my mamala and delivered matzoh ball soup, offered meals and sent sweet texts. And my dad has pitched in and taken the kids to the movies and even watched the littlest (!) when I needed to go to the doc.

So, even though I look like a tranny, I feel loved, and that goes a long way toward getting well.