Yesterday, I went to the doctor, who told me I probably had a virus. That was exactly what I was expecting she'd say. I've been going to this particular practice for going on 10 years now, off and on, and I think I've been prescribed antibiotics maybe once? I guess that's as much a testament to my general health as it is to their reluctance to prescribe. I'm glad they aren't pushing the meds, but sometimes when you feel sh*tty, you just want someone to say "here's what's wrong. take this and it'll be fixed." Between the diagnosis of "suck it up" (not at all what the doc told me, that's just my message to myself) and the 9 hours of sleep I had, I'm feeling much better today.
One of the girls' half-sibs and her mom are with us this weekend for the girls' birthday (which was yesterday). We are excited because we love the two of them, but a little freaked out because the bug situation in our apartment is gross. We live in a multi-story building, we've always had problems with bugs, but since I've been pregnant, we haven't let them spray, only put down gel. Well, that only works for a bit and now. Eek. Between the bugs and the freaking tiny apartment where our guests will be luxuriating in the palatial space we call the living room floor, we are hoping that her visit doesn't make her run screaming from us as fast as she can.
Their birthday party is Sunday. We've planned it for a local playground. Cross your fingers that it doesn't rain, otherwise we'll have 14 kids plus parents and sundry others shoved into our apartment. If that doesn't make a preggo crave some booze, I don't know what will.