My youngest is sick today, which means we may as well all be sick. Just looking at our baby with his poor red nose, streaming eyes and honking cough is enough to make us all feel bad. I like it better when he is smiling and happy:
I hate it when either of my kids is sick. It’s like my whole subconscious goes on red-alert, and worrying about them becomes an annoying, but ever-present white noise in the back of my mind. I think this is one of those things that surprised me most about parenthood. Both my kids have a little section of my brain that is now permanently cordoned off, where all my worries, concerns and general mommy-ing run like a never-ending news-ticker. When they are sick, the peanut gallery of that section gets louder, and more distracting, and I am always slightly on edge until they are back to their happy, healthy selves.
God forbid this illness results in a trip to the pediatrician’s office. I already did a three-hour wait there once this month…I don’t want to do that again. There are few things in life I dread more than the pediatrician’s office. When I think about being trapped in a tiny room, waiting for hours, while other sick kids are screaming and crying in the background….well, let’s just say that’s enough to make me break out into a cold sweat.
And, in case you missed it, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that a child will always get sick on the weekend…usually on a Friday night about five seconds after the doctor’s office closes. My youngest jumped the gun by a few hours, but it is still Friday….*sigh* He is nothing if not predictable in his sickness.
A few days of cold medicine, Tom and Jerry reruns and lots of hugs should clear this right up…I hope.