The baby is sick again. This time the doctors aren't entirely sure if she's got a cold gone bad or contracted RSV. She wheezy in the lungs, coughing up gobs of gunk (then delightfully chewing it up and swallowing it much to my disgust) and sneezy and snotty. To top it off she's got not one tooth coming in as we originally thought but four, two top and two bottom, trying to come in at once. Overall she's in great spirits but when the gums are aching, her chest is hurting from barking so much and she's just had her fill of the constant stream of breathing treatments, liquid steroids, cold meds, Tylenol, Orajel, and other assorted treatments watch out. Tiny fists ball up in rage and the war cry sounds from those gunked up lungs. In less than a week she's learned to not just avoid the mask for the nebulizer by twisting her head from side to side, but she also hits (repeatedly), kicks, and thrashes her body like she's riding a wild stallion in a rodeo. Funny, but incredibly frustrating. And all the steroids get her hyped up so that now around 3 in the morning she regularly gets up for a chat about the mysteries of life and this vast world she's encountered. It'd be so endearing at any time other than the early morning hours. She'll sit in my lap and wheezily utter a cacophony of syllables with complete sincerity. Then she'll giggle as if she's told the best joke in the world before dissolving into a wet sounding 80 year old smoker cough.

Notice I'm trying to avoid saying the obvious: I'm butt assed tired.

Jaalyn on the other hand is still full of herself. I honestly wish I could get just one day to spend with her, just me and her, so that I can show her how much she means to me and that I'm not always this shrew yelling No! Stop! Don't! Argh! I realize how much I fuss even as the words leave my mouth. And I do try not to yell. But it's just stumping me how 5-going-on-15 year olds can make you blow your cool in the blink of an eye. I have this thing with people and kids behaving like the have absolutely no sense. It drives me crazy. For example, I can ask Jaalyn to put on her school shoes (keep in mind that she only has one pair). She will look at the ceiling, in her toy chest, under the bed and downstairs... when the shoes were right beside her feet (they were actually touching the side of her foot) the entire time. That sort of foolishness irks me to no end. I know it's a phase. I know I need to show patience. I know that there's a better way to handle the situation. But what do I do? I get angry, I lose my cool and I yell. Next thing you know she's in tears and I'm alternately pissed and ashamed. But... I'm getting better. I promise.

Emotionally... oh boy. Break out the roller coaster stereotype. I've been thinking about relationships past a lot lately. You know how it is when you reminisce and only the good memories come back to you and you're like Damn! I really miss _____. Each time I reminisce I give myself the mental slap in the face that all those past relationships weren't a bed of roses. But oddly enough the one past relationship I have trouble giving myself the mental bitch smack over is my marriage. Because the truth is the marriage itself really wasn't that bad. The circumstances of how we came to be married put stress on the marriage but I have to admit, in the beginning life was good. At the end life was still pretty good. But, eh, it's over and done with now and if I had to do it all over again... I would... oh hell who am I kidding? I wouldn't.

I dunno. I'm tired and just a wee bit lonely for some adult time. Not necessarily sexual, althought that would be nice too, but what I wouldn't give for some good conversation that doesn't consist of a) man-bashing (imagine that... me sick of man bashing) b) children or child related things or c) the antics of other people I (we) know. Conversation of that sort is about as stimulating as flossing.

But as much as I long to be held, conversed with and subsequently bedded (in the dark... under about 14 comforters... with a corset to hide the baby fat tummy and a sturdy bra to prevent those inconvenient leaky boobs. Wow, just killed the mood didn't I?), conversely I don't want any of that and just want some time for me, with me. As delightful as it would be to be able to go out with the girlfriends for drinks and a good time, or to go out on a real (real!) date with Mr. I'm-not-as-big-a-fuck-up-as-you-thought-and-by-the-way-I'm-REALLY-single, I'd be just as happy with the kids at the grandparents house, a lovely takeout meal from my favorite restaurant and a hot bath with soothing salts and lighted candles sans bath toys followed by a nice boring evening in which I can read my huge pile of unread magazines (National Geographic! Southern Living! Better Homes and Gardens! Boring I am! And proud of it dammit.) and make passionate love to my DVR chock full of Most Haunted, Clean House and Chef at Home episodes.

And... my confession for this entry**... all this thinking about having someone special in my life came from a recent lunch date with an old friend/coworker. He's not my type (read: married, arrogant and MY height) but knowing that he wanted to see me, spend time with me and yes, woo me over a lunch of my choosing made me feel good. Made me feel the faint glimmer of sexiness and slightly attractive. I'd never consider embarking on yet another illicit relationship with a married/taken/she's-not-really-my-girlfriend-we've-just-been-together-for-2-years dude but just the fact that someone saw me as a person -not a mom, not a conquest but an actual person with interests outside the realms of sex and parenting- it was such a refreshing experience.

**Since this is Confessions of a Single Supermom I figure I ought to live up to the title, no? So for each entry I'll confess at least on thing most people probably didn't know previously. Could be a tantalizing tidbit. More likely it'll be a boring addition to the post.