Things could be worse

As I laid in bed this weekend, wishing for the sweet relief of death to come upon me, Jonathan brought Emma up to eat. He put her down beside me and in my feverish haze I looked down, exhausted, only to be gazed upon with a huge, gummy, dimply smile. Then I thought, this could be worse.

Since Thursday, I have been battling a fever and an infection. Friday afternoon, the fever and infection won and started to claim my body as new territory. I was completely bed ridden Saturday and Sunday, went to the ER yesterday, and feel a little better today. Things happened between Friday and Monday that I will never discuss with another human being. I will tell you that the fastest way to revive yourself once you've passed out standing up is to propel your body into a wardrobe and subsequently smash your face up and scare the hell out of your sleeping husband. That was slightly funny, even though I had no idea what was going on. Do not ask me what type of infection I had. I care not to describe it.

As bad as this weekend was, it could have been worse. My nasty fever could have chosen to stay around. My infection could have been something life threatening that couldn't be cured with 10 days of antibiotics. I could have been all alone without a fabulous husband to take care of me, Emma, and the baptism class he had to attend by himself. I could have not had a mom that would drop everything to watch Emma so we didn't have to have her in a hospital. I could still be bed ridden and not able to eat. Trust me, as a nursing mother, 4 days of not eating has majorly sucked, but it could be worse. Emma could've gotten ill as well, so could Jonathan, but neither did.

I will get better and I will be thankful that it wasn't worse.