My book club, appropriately named Books & Bubbles, was set to read My Dear Hamilton this month. It’s 630 pages long. :blink, blink: 630 frackin’ pages. This is a reading marathon.
And then I was pummeled with the flu. At 6 mos pregnant, I am fortunate that with a variety of medicines at my disposal I can take…um… uh… oh, that’s right- absolutely nothing while pregnant. So other than some Tylenol when my fever started to get really high and rather uncomfortable, I just waited it out.
Unfortunately, history is pretty confident that A. Ham and Eliza both ended up with yellow fever in 1793 and very nearly died. (Spoiler alert: They recovered. However, don’t get too comfortable with Alexander hanging out on Earth.) I spent a lot of my day moving between napping, sweating, shivering, and reading. I was really miserable.
Which is why at one point, I woke up from a nap and was absolutely heartsick that I had yellow fever and that I was going to die. I was absolutely convinced and I was so sad that I was going to miss out on Chaos & Mayhem growing up to become evil geniuses which they are certainly destined to be.
Also, a second spoiler alert: I also didn’t die from yellow fever…or the flu. I’m still standing by the evil genius thing.
(I really loved the book, by the way. Yes, it was insanely long and my pregnancy hormones had me sobbing over the deaths of people who have been dead for over 220 years, but that didn’t take away from a really compelling storyline. When I grow up, I want to be strong like Eliza Hamilton.)
