Move your hair.

My daughter has this thing lately where she is getting very huggy. I know it is mostly because I have been practically bedridden and she is scared, but she is coming to me and asking for a hug about every 15 minutes. The only problem? My hair.

I used to have shorter hair. (My mom doesn't understand "just a little off the ends". Don't believe me? Ask Older Sister. She has the same problem with the woman.) I usually like having my hair long because I just think it looks better on me. (Plus there were just waaay, waaay too many hair experiments from my school days...) So I have been letting it grow out from the last hack job my mom did. It was chin length...now it is mid back. It hangs down over my shoulders and rests on my chest. She will hug my midsection or even my thighs if my hair is hanging over my shoulders.

"Mommy? Move your hair."

I'll pull it back behind my shoulders and she just tackles me.

I don't know why she won't hug me with my hair hanging...but she doesn't want the stuff to touch her in any way. Such a persnickety kid.

*****

Update on the health: I am going to the pulmonologist* tomorrow. Let's hope I just have heart failure or pneumonia and not Cancer, emphysema, COPD or TB. Not that heart failure is a good thing...but I have traveled that road before and I know where I left all the bread crumbs if ya catch my drift. Because I have to drive myself to the doc tomorrow, I was trying to prolong taking my narcotic cough syrup as long as possible to see how long I could go without it before the coughing fit overcame me. I was all stoked about doing well with out it until a massive coughing attack hit me. It turned out I was only an hour past my timed dose. During this coughing attack I was trying to make my homemade mac 'n cheese. Needless to say...I coughed till I passed out. SPLAT! Fat woman meets kitchen floor. I wasn't out long, but when I got up, Punk was standing over me with dirty panties and needed my help. (Lesson you are never too young to learn? Never trust a fart.) I had to dash off to the bathroom to help her clean up and then quickly wash my hands before dashing back to the kitchen to try to save the mac 'n cheese. It turned out really thick...not usually the way it turns out. I thinned it with a little milk, but by the time I tried to eat it, my throat was tore up from all the coughing. So I didn't even get to enjoy my own cooking. I have since taken my meds...

Ladadadada....feeling groooooovy.....

I am off to lay back down now. It has taken me over an hour just to type this little post. It never takes me that long. I could type out War & Peace in 20 minutes. (Not really. Maybe. Possibly not.)

Fingers crossed that I am not dying of consumption, folks. And that this new doc has the gonads to treat me and not wank out by telling me to just go to the ER. My other new doc has just had the bejeezus scared out of him by my internal fuckedupedness. He wanked out and just told me to go to the ER instead of giving me a stronger inhaler. I let everyone know how it goes tomorrow. Hopefully I won't cough myself off of an overpass while I am driving.




*I'll be damned if blogger spell check had no fucking clue what a pulmonologist was. That's a bad sign, isn't it?