Wednesday, August 4, 2010

There's no I in Team! (but there is ME)...

I don't know about you guys, but 'round these parts, I'm not only HFMIC but I'm *also* captain of the Cheer Squad. Which is pretty funny, because I'm tragically uncoordinated, not terribly adorable in a pleated skirt, and accidentally-goth-at-times.

But Monkeys, SOMEONE has to keep morale up around here and motivational posters just aren't doing the job...



I mean, I've been coordinating The Man's recovery like a one-woman crack commando team of trained health professionals; which I am NOT, in any way.

The Man's doctor was all, "Listen yo, you can't do any more bench press, or throw a ball, or rescue kittens or ANYthing that you might like to do, pretty much ever."

So I'm all "Oh HELL no" and searching the internet, talking to surgeons in faraway lands like Wisconsin and Chicago, and learning so much about shoulder joints that you should go ahead and pre-register for my upcoming webinar. No, not really.

And when I'm not talking to surgeons and their underlings, or explaining what The Man's humerus looks like through a scope, I'm busy giving motivational speeches and hand-stitching inspirational quotes on The Man's pillow cases.

Then of course I have the Children of the Corn to consider; Princess is starting Kindergarten soon, and Casanova is very unhappy that he isn't, so I have to rally 'round the children and their fluffy little psyches, all while making sure dinner doesn't burn (again) and that I remembered to put the Downy ball in the washer.

Goooooo TEAM!

But where, oh WHERE is Mommy's cheerleader? Hmmmmmm?

Today, for instance, I'm having my period baby, and waiting for the Man with the Epidural to show up (which he never DOES, the bastard) and I texted The Man about how I am pretty sure that my VicoFun is also triggering a Megrim, which is why I quit taking the Tramalamadingdongs *last* month!

::crickets::

Good thing I didn't NEED anything, or that my head didn't explode, because I'd be cleaning up brain pieces allllll by myself. And although I know that The Man's cell phone is very discreet and quiet and whisper-y about incoming text messages, I'm sufficiently hormonal to require an immediate emergency response, along with a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and some of those nice Dove chocolate squares that tell me I'm pretty and deserve a bubble bath.

You can also just FORGET the kids caring that I was having some sort of drug-triggered brain hemorrhage; tell your kid that you're feeling sick and it's all PAUSE...."Can we have a snack?"

So.

If I want to be catered to around here, I'd better start knitting my own positive-message doilies. That's today's lesson.

Then again, I have plenty of reasons to handsomely pay my therapist...

Comments, questions, who do you cheer on?

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