I always say “You're never really at home in a new house until you've stayed up all night praying to the porcelain god, O'Rourke.” Yeah. I've never actually said that, but in a way it's sort of true. I woke up at 12:30 this morning feeling less than spectacular and spent a lot of time feeling like hell. Daniel was there with me every step of the way, holding hair back that did not want to be controlled and covering me with blankets on the bathroom floor. I had the chills. I was burning up. It sucked ass. I wish I could say it's a brand new day and that I'm feeling SOOOO much better, but technically it's the same damn day and feeling better... not so much.
Except! I've got an amazing husband and the most adorable daughter watching me as I type my post here. And really, they make my worst day seem pretty fabulous. Excuse me while I go get some hugs and kisses.