Dear Universe, Part 2

This post has a soundtrack.  In order to fully appreciate the dramatic intensity and literary genius of this post, you need to be listening  to "Uprising" by Muse. Go.  Now.  I'll wait. 



OK, all set?

Dear Ear Infection:  You think you won the battle, don't you?  Just because you survived despite a week of antibiotics, you think you get to stick around forever.  For once, I was the good mom and gave all the doses of antibiotics on time and yet you still come back to make my baby scream inconsolably and spike a fever.  Well, get ready.  We're heading back to the doctor, we're taking cultures, and we're coming back with bigger and better antibiotics.  Be afraid, very afraid.

Dear Children:  When you decide you need to barf all over the carpet, please at least have the courtesy to inform me about it.  That way, when I come stumbling down the stairs at an insanely early hour and step in something wet, I'll at least know who to blame  did it.  Yes, Max, that includes you.  I know you're not even fifteen months old yet, but somehow, we're going to have to come up with a sign that means "Mom, I just barfed all over the carpet and instead of getting a rag and cleaning it up, I decided to just toddle off on my merry way."

Dear Nurse at the Pediatrician's Office: Trust me, it's another ear infection.  I'm not paranoid, and I'm not trying to make your life hard. I am not a crazy mom and the last thing I want is another round of antibiotics.  Okay, maybe not the very last thing.  The last thing I want is to spend another day and night with a baby screaming in pain, refusing to sleep.  In other words, no, I don't want to wait until tomorrow morning to come in.  I just need someone to look in his ears and give me a prescription.  Is it really that hard?  Here, I'll trade ya.  You hold the screaming baby for a few minutes while I take a shower, and then tell me there's no available appointments today.  I dare ya.

Dear Sleep: I promise that someday, we will get reaquainted again.  Please don't abandon me for good.

Dear Hairstylist: I am so sorry I had to call and cancel my appointment this morning at the very last minute.  I know how annoying that is.  But it was that or bring my screaming, feverish toddler with me, and no one wants that.  Yes, I know I should have had a haircut six weeks ago.  Yes, I know that it's gotten so bad that if anyone from those TLC Makeover shows saw me, they would pass me over as a lost cause.  And yes, I know that my eyebrows have stopped looking like eyebrows and instead look more like two giant furry creatures that are taking over my face.  (Yes, I wax my eyebrows.  No judging allowed.)  A girl can only do so much.  Besides, a sick baby means that the only people that are going to see me are my pediatrician and my family.  I'm sure the pediatrician has seen worse.  At least I hope so....  Hey, I showered.  What more do you want?

Dear House: Please clean yourself.   Seriously.  We've been here a year and a half, and you have yet to use that "self clean" feature.  Today would be a good day.

Dear Laundry: See above.