It’s hard to write this without sounding petty and childish, but…. WAH! AM SICK. WANT MY MOMMY.
It doesn’t help that Boo is sick, too. The Three Ring Mom house is a veritable incubator of viral plague, so anyone who wants to visit better come over decked out in Hazmat suits, double fisting cans of Lysol. And while you’re at it, bring me some vodka. You know, for the disinfecting…
Whatever. Screw you. Am sick. Hurts to punctuate correctly.
It all started last Friday morning. Boo was supposed to be heading over to Red’s parents’ house for the weekend while we went to to the bank to do some very important adult-like things (talking to lenders, begging, offering sacrifices to Satan and the Chairman of the Fed, etc.) as well as giving our resident unwelcome guest a sage enema. But when he didn’t wake up by 10:00, I knew something was wrong.
The first thing I noticed was the rosy, blooming spots on his cheeks. Normally, my son is about as pale as pale gets thanks to all his daddy’s Irish blood, so seeing those red little cheeks triggered my panic reflex. Enter my typical handflapping and running from room to room screaming, “Red! The baby is SICK!” while I tried to remember where I had hidden the bottle infant’s tylenol and thermometer. (Turns out, they were, um, in the bathroom drawer. Where they were supposed to be. Huh.)
True to his nature, Boo wouldn’t go down without a fight when I tried to take his temperature. I literally had to wrestle him into a pretzel hold to get the damned thermometer close enough to his temple to get an accurate reading. The whole process was… sweaty. And not fun. Red stood in the doorway just watching me struggle to hold our thirty-two pound two year-old still. A few years ago, he would have laughed at me, but now he knows better. Or rather, he knows I have excellent aim.
Finally, the thermometer beeped. 102 degrees.
We threw Boo in a lukewarm bath and resolved ourselves to a weekend of sleepless nights and constant hovering. By Sunday, he seemed to be on the mend so we went to my parents’ house for Mother’s Day. By Monday morning, we were both sick.
Y’all, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck full of raw sewage. I’ve been running a high(ish) fever on and off all day. I’m drugged to the gills. My head feels all floaty and disconnected, and I’m having trouble paying attention to anything for more than fifteen seconds at a time.
Also: mucus! Lots of it.
So I think I’ll say good night before something shiny distracts me. Oh! There’s a squirrel in the front yard!