Sick of being sick.

Today I am angry. I shouldn't be. My husband has work again, it's gorgeous outside, and I have chocolate in my pantry. I should be giddy at the beauty of being able to pay bills, giving into life's most decadent craving, and the thought that spring's charming look-alike has decided to come and stay for the week. Instead I am sulking. I am mad because I am sick. Again. This is the fourth time in two very short months! I have had my bouts of fatigue, discomfort, and insomnia during this pregnancy, but I have been more than happy to keep my head up, holding to the happy fact that nausea did not follow me through my second trimester as it did last time. But now, after two months without more than a few days of recovery between each cold, cough, or stomach flu, my head has firmly planted itself low in my misery. I am mad that my husband can't be around to help me when I feel like crap, that I can't taste the perfectly dark chocolate that sits uneaten in my cupboard, and that I would rather be in bed than enjoying the warm sun on my face. I don't want comforting words or promises of prayer. I want to stomp my feet, stick out my lip, and be the miserable, pitiful mess that I know I am. I don't want the bigger picture, or hope of the future, no matter how near it may be. I don't want to think of anything more than my own little problems of the right here and now. I think this may be about more than just being sick. I know it is. But for today I am only allowing myself to be angry about one thing. And that is being sick. I am sick of being sick!