I was going to write a post about how I’ve felt like the inside of steaming pile of elephant poop for the last twenty four hours. About how I got this bug, and things came out of me that I didn’t even eat, and then I passed out on the bathroom floor. About how Hubs brought me some old nasty blankets and a pillow so I could sleep on those cooling tiles. And about how Noise started barfing at about 3am, so I had to leave my bathroom nest so that I wouldn’t get puked on. And later, when Noise came to bed with us, how all I could do was weakly kick Hubs so he could punt Noise into the bathroom just in time to barf some more.

About how I pitied myself, and cried like a baby, and was sure that no one in the history of time ever, ever felt like I felt, or they would have written famous tomes about it.

But, um. A little perspective? Whymommy’s double mastectomy is tomorrow. She’s been kicking cancer’s ass for about six months now, and it all comes down to this moment. Go over there and wish her luck, will you? Because that is what being brave looks like. She’s phenomenal. I am so proud of all she has already accomplished, and so eager to see her rise from this.