Debbie Does Drivel

PLEASE. NOT THE KILLER FLU.

I'm so sick. My snot is burny and drips down the back of my throat like evil lava.
I cannot sleep because I cannot breathe.
Still: I've managed to do most of my Christmas shopping and will host Christmas Eve tomorrow night.
Yes, I am already in training for Super Mom: the woman who does it all despite numbing exhaustion and dwindling time.
I am very deserving of much kudos.

But no, I really am sick. I knew it was so when Kev began to rearrange our office/baby room and when mapping out his plan to carve a "porthole" between our bedroom and the baby's room, I stifled a yawn and nodded weakly.
Really, seriously, my husband considered drilling a large hole above our bed so we could peek in at the baby without having to leave our room.
It's cute, no? But crazy, right? Fever so overheated my brain that I could not differentiate at the time.

Anyway, Kev is currently out Christmas shopping. He does do this every year: wait until the last minute. He can't think what to get me this year either, so this is going to take awhile.
He thumbed through the newspaper ads last Sunday afternoon and questioned me: "Do you want this? (a vacuum cleaner)
"How about this? (a NY Times electronic crossword puzzle) and "What do you think of this? (a plastic watch).
He is grasping at Christmas gift straws.

And the strange thing is: this year I really don't care what I get. I would be fine without anything (except the health of myself and the baby).

Hey! Not only am I Super Mom, I'm also quite selfless and charitable. I have discovered the real meaning of Christmas.

But seriously, I hope I don't get a vacuum.