For the last few days everyone here has been sick. It started with my son and a very large strange lump on his hip in exactly the place he doesn’t want mommy looking anymore. Yes I noticed he was walking funny lately, but being a sensitive type mom, OK so I just really didn’t want to know, I didn’t ask him about it. After three days of him walking funny and me looking the other way he finally gives.
Boy Twin: (Turning beet red) Um, mom, could you, uh, come in here and look at this?
Me: I’m sure it’s growing in just fine, and yes they are supposed to be different sizes.
BT: No, it’s not that. I …wait, how did you know that…never mind…there’s this swollen lump. (pulls down his shorts) Mom you have to open your eyes.
Me: (Because of course now it’s his fault) When were you going to tell someone about that?! How long has that lump been there? (in my head I’m running through only the most horrible and deadly things it could be.)
He then decides that he’s going to let it be for now because he doesn’t want to lose his perfect attendance. However, when he comes home Friday he can barely walk for the pain. I call Dad/Husband and he gets off work early to take us to the ER.
We’re in the back and he’s writhing in pain when a nurse comes in.
Nurse: What brings you here today?
BT: My parents. (yes, he really did say that)
Just a swollen lymph gland, nothing to worry about. Here’s some Keflex and some Tylenol 3′s.
Two days later we’re back in the ER because BT’s eyes have swollen almost completely shut, he’s having trouble breathing, and he’s freaking me right the hell out. At least now we know he’s allergic to Keflex.
BT is on his way to better now. But now it’s Girl Twin’s turn.
Girl Twin: Mom I have a fever. I need something for it.
Me: More cowbell! (yes, I really did say that)
Three more days of sick and GT is on the mend. Now it’s Bug’s turn.
You know, toddlers are funny about sick. If they’d just sit still, lay still, be still, they wouldn’t have the crud half as long. But nooo, dose a toddler with fever reducer and they’re right back to tearing the wall paper off the walls. Until the Tylenol wears off that is, then they’re curled up in a ball crying.
Of course this one had the added adventure of the whole spewing from both ends fun-fest. Gotta love that! I mean really? How does a three foot tall little girl get so much bodily fluid out of so many places? Is it really possible for something that small to release that much all at once? Fifty bucks in laundry soap and new undies later, Bug is on the mend.
But of course now that means Husband has it now. And wow! Grown men are babies when it comes to colds. He told me he had a fever and threatened grievous bodily harm to all of us when our reply had to do with cowbell. (I will note here that it was he who started the cowbell response, he’s so unfair)
Husband: (weak and sickly) Baby? Can you get me some water?
Me: Yea but hang on here’s the kids’ progress reports…
Husband: (even more sickly) Water?
Me: Here look at these while I get it. (I lay them on the nightstand…where they stay)
Husband: Can you get me the Motrin?
Me: They’re right next to you all you have to do is extend your arm a little.
Husband: Well if you’re going to be a bitch about it…
Me: (resisting the urge to make them suppositories) Here love, do you need me to open them for you? (Maybe shove them down your whiny little throat?)
Now just in the time that I’ve been writing this he’s asked for:
The remote…it was at his feet on the bed.
More water…the water I just got him was too warm now….after all it’s been five minutes.
His cigarettes…all he had to do was lean up, but I had to walk across the room.
A cold cloth… and could I lay it on his head…and then make it cold again… and lay it on his head again…
Yes, everyone else in the house was/is sick, but they can’t possibly be as sick as he is. He’s so much worse off than everyone else. Have I made it clear yet that my husband is a six and a half foot tall German? Well his is. And now he’s whining. Every few minutes he gives me an update on exactly how much of what kinds of fluids are exiting..or staying. He punctuates each of these statements with a whine, moan, sigh, or some other noise to emphasize exactly how much discomfort he’s in.
He’s on the down side of it now, but I’m just starting. My eyes are burning from fever, by tomorrow I’ll be near death…or at least that’s how I’ll put it to him. He’ll then be the water fetcher, Tylenol opener, cold cloth getter, and I will have my vengeance!!!
