As much as I try to deny those first ominous signs, it doesn’t take long before I’m forced to leave my quiet, happy place with the realization that my son is sick…again… It doesn’t matter that he has had maybe a week reprieve between ailments for the last several months, he still manages to become a moist, slimy mess who insists on coating my face with cough and sneeze residue as though my nose holds an enticing bull’s eye that provides chocolate morsels for a job well done.
He doesn’t feel well. He is cranky and tired, yet unable to sleep at times. If I were a nice, caring Mommy, I would cuddle and nurture him with every empathizing bone in my body, taking pity on my sweet little man throughout the duration of his case of the yucks. I, however, am not a nice, caring Mommy. As soon as I acknowledge that the gatekeeper to the plague has admitted one more friend, I immediately become angrier than I should voice. This isn’t the type of anger that has me furious at the gods of illness who decided my son is such a worthwhile companion that they refuse to leave his side, leaving him miserable for days I long since stopped trying to count. The type of anger I feel is completely selfish because I know it is inevitable that my health will deteriorate sooner than I am ever willing to admit.
What makes my level of anger even more irrational is that for eight straight colds, I managed to skate by germ free while my husband has had one perpetual cold that morphs into various symptom incarnations as time passes…just to keep it interesting… But, my immunity luck ran out as I knew would happen at some point, yet it hasn’t stopped me from muttering colorful expletives under my breath on this new round’s onset. After all, it’s been a measly week since I recovered from the last sickness that took almost three for my body to completely vanquish.
This time around I developed pink eye to ensure I remain on my toes. I’ve never had pink eye…This should be pleasant… A nagging cough brought about by mouth breathing provides excellent fodder for the raging headache that consumes an entire day, further nurturing my delightful disposition this week.
But, while I am full throttle inhabiting the kingdom of bitchydom, my daughter is seemingly oblivious to my turmoil and my son unaware that I am not a nice, caring Mommy. Throughout this entire ordeal I continue to read his favorite stories repeatedly amidst hacking mid rhyme. There are lots of cuddles with me holding him dancing while my back aches and my sciatic nerve screams from over exertion. All I want to do is sleep, but, sure, I can sing that same song repeatedly because my sickly little guy wants nothing else but this singular tune. But, I won’t lie; I’m really just waiting for his nap hoping it lasts six more hours than usual, and if it didn’t make me cough, I’d be screaming into my pillow.