What started out as a mild case of ear infection has turned into the Black Plague. Chunk has antibiotics. He's fine. It's Denver Mom and I that are constantly chasing people in environmental protection suits off our lawn.
"I don't care what kind of doctor you are, you can't take my water glass!"
Chunk is only sixteen months old, so there's still a lot of "this is what it means to be a dad" learning going on. The latest lesson? My healthcare takes second to Chunk's every time. I will move mountains and break rivers to get him to the doctor, but I won't go myself, especially if it means upsetting his nap schedule.
Yes, it's crazy. If I'm feeling better, I can be more attentive as a dad. I can be there for him, while he's trying to feel better. I can be up when he's up, instead of locked in the bathroom trying to pry my eye open.
Yes, I have pink eye. I've never had it before, even as a kid. And yet, here it is, like some swollen, puss-filled thief in the night. How embarrassing. A man in his thirties, fighting off a serious case of pink eye. If I'm lucky, maybe people will just think I'm a drunk.
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