Like all good plagues, this one has spread to everyone, incapacitating our entire household with fits of coughing, running noses, and strangely persistent fevers. I wish I were exaggerating, but there were a few days this week when all three of us were taking the same antibiotic.
Chunk is feeling better, having enjoyed the benefits of being on antibiotics for much longer than either of his poor, hacking parents. This should be a cause for celebration, as a happy child is much easier to handle than a crabby, miserable child, but the imbalance of sick parent and well child is a troublesome one.
Well Child wants to go outside and run in circles around the block. Well Child wants to wrestle and giggle and play hide and seek, which usually requires running and hiding and jumping out and yelling "boo!" Well Child doesn't take three hour naps that let Sick Parent work from home/recharge/do the dishes/nap himself. Well Child likes to grab you by the hand a drag you to whatever task he has for you, all the time babbling on and on about it, his expressive eyebrows reminding you that this is all very serious business and he wouldn't ordinarily bother you with this sort of thing, but after evaluating the situation, he determined that your intervention was truly necessary.
And, as all of this happens, these subtle and not so subtle requests for attention and invigorating play and whatever else, you are coughing so hard the even your tongue hurts. You are coughing with such force that your stomach muscles are sore. And, even then, he smiles and coaches you along with some spirited babbling for which you have no translation, but still somehow understand, and you play... and run... and hide... and boo... and yes... cough.
What is the point of all of this? No point. Just more surprise at the strange things that parenthood has done to me, has likely done to every parent. No matter how bad I feel, I still manage to be present for Chunk when he needs me. Its comforting, in a way, but also exhausting.
I'm going to bed early tonight.