I knew it had been too long since we’d spent quality time at the hospital.

The Wee One and I just got back from an overnight, not a big deal, really, just the old pneumonia, oxygen tent, prednisolone, screaming blood draws and massive injected antibiotics routine. Really, though, does she have a punch card there or something? I can see the appeal; they bring her unlimited pizza and pudding, there’s cable TV, the nurses fawn over her and give her as many stickers and band-aids as she wants.

But it’s getting old for me. I know all the nurses and the names and ages of their children and dogs now, and can tell when the vaporizer runs out of distilled water just by the slight change in the pitch of its vibration (and that was while I was sleeping). And I’m not proud that I secretly order the “cheesecake with cherry topping” off the hospital menu knowing that the Wee One will not touch it and I can devour it myself.

SHE is doing fine, by the way—her white blood cell count is down by 10,000 and she knew her way around the hospital playroom and peds unit corridors by yesterday afternoon. She charmed the pants off everyone and informed them, “I probly go home later today”—turns out she was right. But I, I am not fine. I am getting too old for these misadventures, and clearly should have commenced having children years ago, at least if the children were going to be as fragile and accident-prone as Ms. Wee One. It’s just so hard to keep them alive and healthy, you know? Anyway, I committed a frightening amount of online retail therapy today (note to the Husband: do not look at the balance on the debit card account), and will be feeling better after I get at least a night’s full sleep (unlikely in the near future, since the Wee needs nebulizer treatments at midnight and 4 am, argh). But enough whining. Peace to all, and happiness and health to you!