We wish you a merry sleep.

Me: Vaaaacaaaay!

Husband: Hells to the ya! I need this. We need this.

Me: Ummmmm.....what the Rudolf is this?

*I peer curiously at baby and my eyes quickly scan the rest of his face.

Me: I think he got bit last night. Strange, it seems to have gotten him...(I furiously add up the little red dots that mark baby's face) like 8 times. Sweet baby Jesus in the manger.

* I carefully lift baby's pjs from his belly and gasp. No, no, no. It couldn't? Not on the first day of our Christmas holidays?!

Yep, baby had chicken pox.

What the eff? The world still has chicken pox? This so called childhood right of passage still inflicts North American homes? Isn't there a vaccine for this? Why yes, yes there is. And if you are following the vaccination schedule, then your 15 month old has indeed been vaccinated for the dreaded pox. But, if you are like me and just a teeny bit behind on your vaccination schedule. then beware: the pox could be headed to your home. Swiftly, I went into panic mode and memories of my 8 year-old itchy, spotted self flood my brain. How in god's name are we going to get through this? What about all of our Christmas plans? What about the baking, the shopping, the pictures, the family, the friends, the daycare Christmas recital? Wait, the recital?! The recital where Baby has a starring role playing none other than Santa himself?! But he's been practicing his "Ho, ho, ho," all week!

Breathe, mama, breathe.

Let's face it, life throws you giant curve balls and really, I have no idea what that even means. I guess what I am trying to say is that sometimes life is unpredictable, situations unavoidable, and sometimes it's just downright crappy and in no way can you prepare for it.

Take the next two weeks for example. After being quarantined with baby for a week, celebrating a wonderful, but brief interlude of Christmas joy with the family, we endured anther week of the flu (myself included in that little germ fest). It was pure misery through and through. We passed the time between Sesame Street on Youtube and Maury Povich. Honestly, we had reached and all time low and just as I began chanting, "Big Bird, you are not the father!" I began to feel like myself again. A sure tale sign you are beginning to feel human again: You look around your house with disgust AND you actually start cleaning. And cleaning we did. With bleach.

So what can I say of my sad story? What lesson can be learned? What health wisdom can I impart?

Nothing. Next year, I want to go to the Bahamas.