When it rains, it pours.

I woke up this morning, Matt's complaining about his stomach not feeling good. Whatever. It's not that I'm entirely unsympathetic, I'm just never quite sure if it's like "I have gas" or "I'm going to vomit everywhere at any given moment" So until I have more information, "Oh, I'm sorry honey" will just have to suffice.

Well, around 12:30, he gets ill enough to warrant a nap. He gets up from aforementioned nap and is trembling. Next thing you know, he's spiking a fever of 102.2, and rather than feeling sympathy for him, I'm resisting the urge to strangle him.

Ok, maybe I'm not trying to strangle him. I do feel sorry for him, because I know how he feels right now. But seriously, right after Mikenna? He couldn't wait a week? Or two?

If he knows what's good for him, he'd better wake up tomorrow morning feeling a little tired, possibly with a low-grade fever, but otherwise feeling much better. Or I quit.

That cat better not get any bright ideas.

(Poor Matthew. I'm not unsympathetic ... I'm just overwhelmed.)