Everyone in my house is sick…except me. And maybe the dog. But since she suffers from a general, everyday kind of malaise – she doesn’t really count.
The first person to catch the sick was my 2-year-old on the day of her birthday. Good tidings to come, barump a pum dum. Snotty came, followed by sneezy, coughy, stuffed-up, and fever. I hate fever. Mommy of course, got no sleep for several nights.
The second person to catch the sick was my husband. I now know why women give birth – When I asked him how he was feeling on a scale of 1-10, 0 being a trip to the morgue, he weakly held up 2 fingers. I pat myself on the back for not rolling my eyes. He’s home from work for the 2nd day in a row. Since the sick seems to last about 3 days, I look forward to a fun-filled weekend.
And then baby caught the sick, which has been really stressful. He has fever, stuffy nose, cough, and a general uncomfortableness that the poor thing hides with a gummy smile. I keep telling him to give it to me – I’d much rather be sick and then see him have it. Meanwhile though, I’m running around between the 3 of them so much, I’m practically wilting. Whoever said this mommy thing was cake has never eaten the cake over here. It’s a doozy.