After Tay brought the plague back from Hawaii, (making it both the best and worst trip we've ever had), which tuned into pneumonia, which turned into cracked/seperated ribs, we finally rolled into softball season. Fun tournament trip to Tri-Cities. Some busy stuff. And then Taylor caught the flu again. As in...my Easter Sunday was spent holding my girl's hair out of her face while she *ralphed*. Not the best Easter memory. And then she rebounded, and we had another few tournaments. And she caught yet another version of the flu. And then she got well. And then she caught a terrible cough/cold. And then another. I don't know how many days she's missed this trimester. Pretty bleak. She lost 10 pounds, which on a little 90 pound body is scary. Her softball pants are too big, and even her belt is too big to hold them up. I think we've finally turned the corner.
I hope.
And amidst all that, my poor sweet dad-in-law got sick. And then sicker. And he just couldn't battle back quite enough. And then it was cancer. And so in the space of a few short weeks, we lost him.
I've been trying to keep up with Project Life, but there are just so many pictures of Taylor on the couch or in bed to show the highlight of the day. I've been trying to get with the clever pictures like the inside of my fridge, or the yard, but really? For the last 3 months, if Tay's not sick, she's pushing herself to play softball, and then hitting the couch again. And we've had too many sad days. And it's tough to get jazzed when you're living in the lovely wet, gray Seattle drizzle, breaking records for the coldest year on record. And the wettest.
So I just turned the calendar to June. Summer must be lurking.
Bring it.
