Jail break.

I have pink eye. I. Have. Pink. Eye.
Not the kids - me.
One of the little cherubs must have given it to me but failed to develop it themselves.
I know that a mother should be happy about that - I am not.

It's one thing to get it because of the loving care you've administered to your poor goopy-eyed child but to be the only one to have it - plain unfair.

I look gorgeous. I will not spare you the details. My eye is a glorious fuschia pink and completely blood shot.
The upper lid looks like it went 3 rounds with Rocky and the lower lid is puffy and swollen to half way down my cheek. Lovely.

After a very difficult week with the baby and her unrelenting fever it's the final straw.
At least I'm not in a wedding today. (I have a history of developing some temporary facial disfigurement just before a big day with cameras involved.)
I did however have a night out with the girls last night. I maybe shouldn't have gone - the baby is still quite unwell - but I needed to get some space. Literally. The baby has been attached to me for 36 hours. I do love the snuggles but it's been hard to pee, eat or move around and she's very hot. It's 80 degrees outside. It's like taking a hot water bottle to the beach.

The 'girls' in question are particularly gorgeous beings. It's hard not to feel a little trollish in their company at the best of times. They are both moms so at least they are familiar with pink eye and didn't ask me to sit at another table.
I did notice a few involuntary winces when they looked directly at me though.

It was so good to be out. It was a beautiful night. The restaurant was really good and the company a tonic. When we left I didn't want to go home. I shouldn't have.
I think I now have an inclination of what it's like to blow your parole.
The baby had declined to sleep since I'd been gone. The husband's dinner was cold and worse, his beer warm. The baby was wired and hot.

Who's idea was it to have kids?