A Hot Mess

I've been sick.  First, I wish to tell you just how sick I've been so that I can garner a lot of sympathy. Imagine having a cold complete with sinus congestion, chest congestion, fever, and sore throat and throw in viral pink eye and deep concern that you have strep throat as well. Now, I went to urgent care today and did not have strep, but they gave me anti-biotics anyway because I think they thought I was just exceptionally gross and probably needed them anyway for some indescretion at some point in my life.
My daughter had a cold a week or so ago, so I guess she gave this to me.  I'm hoping it went down that way, otherwise I'm scared that this will go to her.  But even more scary is what happens to my house when I'm down.
My husband is a saint. Make no mistake about it.  He's taken his own time on a 3 day weekend to run the house and look after a 3 month old and a 34 year old.  However, no matter how good a husband is, there's always some "what the hell happened" when the mom gets out of bed.
Why is my kitchen floor sticky?
No. The bottles in the rubbermaid dish are clean NOT dirty.
Kitchen towels are not spoon rests.
Burning burgers in the electric skillet does not bode well for the electric skillet.
Why does it look like one of the cats was caught in a chain saw and there's fur all over?

In short, I wandered out into the daylight today and thought "My house is a hot mess."

Poor hubs. I came home from the doctor and he said, and I quote, "She hates me. She pooped all over. She wouldn't eat and she's angry. ANGRY."

I picked up my daughter, who was in an outfit that I have no idea where he got it, and she immediately went to sleep. 
Sometimes, only mom will do. Even if she's sick as a dog.