Day 3 BNC and Day 1 of Nanny Cara

Steph received the news that her traveling companion was unwell and likely had COVID, even though she'd tested negative about 6,542 times first thing this morning. 

The travel companion alerted the cruise line that she would not be traveling. I put on a brave face and said positive things to Steph, although had our roles been reversed, I would've been in a massive panic. Steph handled it like a champ, despite not liking plane rides and having now to drive herself several hours to the Philadelphia airport. She found a friend in the Philadelphia area to leave her car with, and the friend agreed to drop her off and pick her up at the airport.  

We spent the rest of the day chatting, staying warm, listening to The Kid whine, and throwing odds and ends into the suitcase. Steph set off at 3:00 pm, blowing air kisses so as not to get near strep, and Nanny Cara immediately went on duty and started a journal.

Monday, December 5th –

• 3 p.m. The traveler has left. The Kid is dying from strep throat. I know this because she announces it every hour. She is lopped on the couch under king-sized blankets, every so often shouting my name. There are 6, 728 used tissues all around her.

• 4:30 p.m. – For the past hour, The Kid has mentioned dinner. It is now dark. She runs through a list of food places, including pizza, Greek, and Indian food. I tell her I don't care. She insists I choose. I say Greek. She says no. I tell her what Indian food I like. She says no. We go with pizza. The Kid orders it. 

• 6:00 p.m. – We have consumed dinner. I ate a salad. The Kid wrinkled her nose when I suggested she eat some lettuce. I mention the importance of roughage and pooping. She asked me to never mention that again.

• 7:30 p.m. – I am ready for bed. What the heck is this darkness at 4:30? I don't remember it getting this dark when I lived in Indiana. I'm chalking "doesn't get dark in the winter until 6:15" as another benefit of living in the Sunshine State.

• 10:00 p.m. – The Kid has announced she is going to bed. I try not to faint. Lord, knows what she'd do to me if I passed out.

• 10:30 p.m. – The kid is showered, medicated, and in bed. I think she may actually go to sleep. I finish cleaning up behind her and go upstairs to bed too. Who am I?