Greetings from the Ninth Level of Hell

Quick Footnote before we begin: 

So while I was writing out the title for this post, I thought, y'know maybe I shouldn't play around with the levels of hell - afterall, Dante probably put a lot of thought into that categorization and maybe he'd like some artistic credit. So I looked them up (with very good primary sources, obs) and found out that I am wrong - whereas I thought the first level would be the worst, it actually isn't...it's a scale of 1 to 9 with nine being the worst. But I was thinking of the levels of Hell as a "Who Is the Woooooorst Sinnaaaaah" game show where first place meant you were the most dastardly...I was wrong. Learn from me - know your levels of Hell so that you may invoke them properly.

SO. 

We're all sick. 

Me, the hubs, Kristin, the baby. We're all sick. 

Now, for those of you who don't know me very well (but how could that be - I overshare so much), I am sort of like an ox. Not like Tommy de Aquino, but like a big animal...that never gets sick. My illness are so rare that I have a great sense of pride about it. Hahaha, germs! You can't get me! I may be built like a bowling ball more than a woman, but at least it means I never get sick! 

Pride really do goeth before a fall. 

After enjoying a great party at the Boda house on Sunday, I awoke Monday...happy to have the day off...then awoke Tuesday, to find death had visited me in the night. Fever, chills, nausea, horrific stomach cramps. I cried. I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and have no one touch or speak to me, which is my defacto cure for all illnesses. 

BUT WAIT. 

I now have a BABY. And Mr. Oram is sick too! And Jen has to work! And my mom is three hours away! And has to work!  

I received a ton of help. Despite having to work, Jen came over and watched the babe so I could pass out sleep for a couple of hours. Tom then got up and took her so I could continue to die rest. Babykins only joined me for feedings and sleepings - which were more frequent, since I gather she is not feeling the hottest either (although it's not as bad as ours, thank goodness - no fever!). 

So congratulations to all the naysayers, I found it - the moment where being a mom doesn't feel like the fulfillment of my prayed-for vocation, or beautiful sanctifying sacrifice and grace-filled suffering. It sucks. I do not want to take care of another person when I feel like my innards are being stirred with a red-hot poker. I do not want to rejoice at the blessing that she is - I want to sleep for more than four hours at a time. 

But at least the sickness is temporary and she is, even in the midst of my torment, pretty darn cute. 

Also, Mr. Oram played the piano with her feet today and the dog started howling, so that was funny. Video forthcoming.