Sick

Does your throat feel scratchy?

I dread this question. For us, it signals the start of an unavoidable, unstoppable, week-long, sleepless, I-am-worse-than-you-so-you-have-to-take-the-baby, ear infection riddled sick fest.

First, before you read this and then hastily run off to locate a can of Lysol and a case of hand sanitizer, we are all on the mend. Mostly. Second, it’s too late, anyway. Find a box of Kleenex, a jar of honey and a good book. In my case, you won’t be able to read the book because you’ll be busy dealing with the needs of three simultaneously sick and needy small people, but it may cushion your face as your head drops from exhaustion sometime around 2 a.m. Anything in paperback is a good choice.

At this moment, we have three bottles of antibiotics lining our counter, to combat double ear infections and pink eye in all three of the kids. We have made the trip from pediatrician’s office to pharmacy and home again three separate times in less than a week, and Chris has been gone for three of these days to go deer hunting. If I am doing the math correctly, that means… let’s see, two parents, minus one who escaped to hunt all by himself for three whole days… carry the zero… I’ve got it! That leaves ME all the hell alone for three days with three sick kids all five and under. That’s some math for you.

It has meant bodily fluids coming out of eyes, noses and mouths, lots of children’s Tylenol and ibuprofen, much pacing in the middle of the night and general crabbiness throughout the day. But it hasn't been all bad. It's uh... no. It's pretty much sucked rotten eggs.

(Pausing to shush and bounce and pace with a very uncomfortable Jack)

O.k. so we are not all quite on the mend… and typing this post… is taking way longer than I planned… as I am only able to type short barrages of words… and only when I get to the end of my pacing loop… with one hand… while swaying and humming,… and trying to make it seem… like I am not typing… but just kind of pacing in place over here by the computer… and then Jack rouses… and I take off for another loop through the condo… because what? I am totally… not typing! I am the most non-typing, only pacing person I’ve ever met… maybe who has ever lived… Only pacing! Pace, pace, pace! That is me! I just… can’t get enough pacing!

No devil couch! I will not sit on you, no matter how much you try to seduce me… with your soft cushions and supportive frame... The way you call to me while I blearily stumble back and forth in the living room… You see, sick babies have a sense for these sorts of things. When they sense that their parents are feeling any level of comfort (i.e. blood flow to all limbs, a chair to perch a partial butt cheek on, etc.) they stir and proceed to wake themselves and anyone else in the house who has managed to find some sleep.

Oh! Look at me! Pacing away! Pace… pace…pace…

Does your throat feel scratchy?