o, mimi, i love you

The worst part of the week was still to come, however, when the nanny (whom we employ because I am unwilling to take on the unfeminist task of childrearing) called in sick, and then Nora also came down with the pestilence, which in her case involved diarrhea and general listlessness. However, I have to say that Nora seemed much less distressed by her plight than an adult would have been—she would just say, “I have to go poop AGAIN” and then comment “that was not a very nice poop.” To which I would reply that although I had no Standardized Evaluation of Poop* chart handy, I agree that by no measure was that a very nice poop. So that was lame, and resulted in me arriving at work, learning of the nanny/Nora sickness, and turning around to head home again (LT had to be in the suburbs and could not cover. And who has sympathetic unemployed friends who will let you bring a diarrhea kid into their home on no notice? Nobody.) The only plus in the whole, BRAT-diet-bullshit day were many tiny moments of gratitude for having a potty-trained kid—instead of changing horrific diapers I merely had to sit with Nora, assist with wiping, and put up with her being pissed at me for denying her juice.

*Just give the EU time, they will probably get on this.

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