So yesterday was R's first birthday!! and I had big plans. My own birthday is a big deal to me, so naturally I wanted her birthday to be a big deal too. B had to work all day, but I thought, "No worries, we will just celebrate in the early evening once he's home."
The day started badly because B and I had been up late fighting. I was displeased with 1. our (lack of) Valentine's celebratoriness; and 2. his work schedule, in that he had to work until 11 that night. My displeasure almost immediately turned into anger--B tried to stave it off by being placating, but it was too little, too late--so I yelled at him until he got angry too. B has a very long fuse but since we've been together so long I know exactly which buttons to push to infuriate him most. Why I wanted to create an explosive argument is not entirely clear, even to me. We made up eventually of course, but not until very late, meaning we were both really tired the next morning.
B went off to work and I skyped with my parents so that they could watch little R open the presents which they mailed her. They loved this, but little R was rather fussy and subdued. The reason for this soon became clear: she was ill. First diarrhea, then a fever, made their appearance, and she was too sick to take out to the park or anywhere else fun. Instead I had to carry the whining, sad, hot birthday baby around the house.
At 4 pm we went to the doctor's, where she was diagnosed with a stomach flu. The doctor told me little R shouldn't eat any milk products for the next week (so much for birthday cake). While paying, I realized I had lost my expensive new cell phone. I tried to hunt it down, but it's gone for good. I was very upset by my stupidity and carelessness, and wanted to cry.
Little R and I tried to make our way home, but there were no taxis to be found (and I couldn't call for one, as I had no phone). We waited an hour, which was a horrible exercise with a feverish, exhausted, miserable baby (she had spilled juice all over herself so that she was soaking wet just to up the ante of bad). By the time we got home, I felt entirely beaten down and depressed (and like the world's worst mother, who couldn't even give her only child a nice birthday). Little R had to go right to bed, leaving her gifts and birthday dinner for some other time.
B told me we would celebrate later this week once little R is feeling better; this cheered me up a little, but I still feel discouraged about the whole thing.