Lilac Colored Glasses

Hi people!

After one day of frustrated rumination and two days of blessed relaxation I was just about ready to discuss the last week and how I felt about not getting the job on Friday. I was really planning on breaking it down for you but then I realized that mulling the whole thing over and over was probably not the most constructive thing to do. Suffice it to say that last week was good because I still love working with kids and was so happy to have contact with children again, even for just a week. It also gave me a sense of purpose…again, just for a week, but still, having a place to go and kids to care for really made me feel more like myself again. Last week was not so good because, really, a 48 work week is not fun. I’ve done it before, but it was never 48 hours of childcare. Working weekends taking bets at a race track did not take the same physical toll on me that daycare did and I really felt that last week. Also, the philosophy in which I was trained was entirely different from the philosophy of the woman I was working with. I was willing to put my opinions on the back burner to try to get the job, but it was glaringly apparent that my idea of child care and hers are totally different. On Friday she indicated to me that her way is “the Belgian system” but when I voiced my concern to CB he said that everyone thinks their way is THE way, and that I shouldn’t assume that all independant daycares were like this one. Cause if they are? I’m boned. Majorly, majorly boned.

But!

All that aside.

Cause something else was brewing last week and it came to my attention around Thursday. On Wednesday I noticed some sharp pain where my underwire was rubbing under my left boob when I held some of the babies. When I got home I looked and saw that my bra had rubbed the skin raw, but there was also some other weird patches of discoloration on my ribs and under my boob. On Thursday I noticed the same thing under my right boob and also a much angrier, itchy, painful irritation in my belly button. So today I went to the doctor and I have….

Fungus.

Yes, fungus under my breasts from all the sweating I was doing last week in the unairconditioned, unventilated daycare. Because, really, what would my life be like if I didn’t have some sort of fungus, right? I mean, I finally got rid of the flesh dissolving athlete’s foot so it only stands to reason that I grow a fresh crop of spores under my boobies. Solution? The creme I used for the athlete’s foot now goes under my boobs twice a day.

And the belly button? That’s apparently bacterial as opposed to fungal, so the antibiotic cream I was using for the open sores caused by the athlete’s foot? Now going into my belly button twice a day.

But still….looking on the bright side, right? If nothing else, this has all proved that my fiancè really must truly and deeply love me, cause I don’t know many other men who would still be willing to cuddle with a walking, talking petri dish.