Is a special kind of hell isn't it? Especially if they are sick and you are sick. If you couldn't reason with them before, you surely cannot while they are thrashing around in their bed screaming "MY HEAD IS HOT! IT'S GOING TO FALL OFF!"
So yes. For the last week we have been sick. The entire house. Mom, Dad, and the Fries. It started with Small Fry and I thought "Well I can handle this. He's only a baby right?"
Wrong. Oh so dead wrong. Once it hit 3 am of me singing "Warm Kitty, Soft Kitty Little ball of furrrr" (Thanks Big Bang!) in this daze and confused state of mind. It probably came out more like "Warm furr soft fur little ball of kitty..." And you can't medicate small fries. You just can't. Not that I didn't briefly have that fleeting thought..No sir. Not me. I would never think of such a thing.
By Day 2 I am a zombie. I can barely talk on the telephone in correct sentences. My mother calls to ask me wedding questions and I answer everything with 'Tylenol". "Did you want roses on the aisle?" Me: "Tylenol". So that was a helpful conversation. After about 15 minutes she gives up and promises to phone back later. She never did and I don't blame her. I wouldn't want to talk to me either in that state. This was when it struck.
Me: *cough cough cough* Oh shit. OH NO. NOOOOOO. NOOOOOOOO
Oh yes. By that night I was a fever raging coughing machine. With a Groom who can't hear a tornado outside let alone a sick baby. I'd love to tell you about it, but I can't remember it. The combination of Buckley's (This is another day. Have you ever had Buckley's? It's a special kind of hell on it's own--but it works.) lack of sleep, delirious with fever and lack of sleep). I must have stumbled to the baby's room a few times singing 'Warm kitty, soft kitty.." because I remember waking up singing it to MYSELF. That's either dedication or insanity setting in.
I'll let you decide.
By Day 3 the worst of the worse sets in. The Man Death Flu. MDF. Oh yes. Groom gets sick. Not just *cough cough* of course, but the Man Death Flu. He's going to die you see if I don't get up and do everything. Everything. Medication, food, cleaning, kids, the works. The MDF comes rarely but when it does it turns this house into a Code 3 distaster area. And it's all up to me to contain it. Because he's incapacitated. With the Man Death Flu.
All the while Large Fry has been oblivious to our germs. He's well and happy, singing and dancing to Thomas the Train (What kind of parent am I? The kind that tries to die quietly on the couch while her Large Fry watches Thomas the Train. Over and over and over. And over. And over.) So now I have "Warm Kitty..he's the cheeky one! James is vain but..little ball of furrrr.." stuck in my head. A combination of songs. Delightful. But Thomas is a saint and keeps Large Fry out of trouble.
But all good things come to an end right? Large Fry is hit Thursday with no turning back. His head is hot. It's going to fall off. He wants me to MAKE THE HOT STOP. STOP RIGHT NOW. I'm trying! I say. I'm trying. Take this medication. Take this rag. Take it all! NOOO screams The Fry. I don't want to! So there I am--1 am fighting with my child to take a single dropper of Tylenol. Success is mine--he FINALLY takes it with promises of chocolate milk. I stumble back to bed and fall into it.
Only to hear "WAHHHHH! WAHHHHHHH." Which is code for "Get your ass out of bed woman and tend to me! Me me me!!!" I'm sure there was an evil laugh there. I am sure of it.