postcards from germtown

I am officially the kind of tired that a venti latte can't even touch. I sat up and watched the clock hit 3 and then dozed off until 4:30. The alarm went off at 5 for me to get up and go work out and it wasn't happening.

I think I'm a pretty patient person but, man, when Ethan gets sick, it all goes to hell. Suddenly I become a total basketcase -- frazzled and flustered and panicked -- totally drowning in the chaos. It's likely due in part to being a germophobe and neurotic to begin with but, still, I swear there are no adequate words to properly describe the chaos in a sick three year old. Of course, Ethan never lets me know when he's not feeling well. If it weren't for a hoarse voice and a middle of the night asthma attack, I probably wouldn't have made the doctor visit. There are only so many $30 co-pays you can pay for a doctor to kindly tell you that nothing is wrong with your kid and you're a neurotic mess before you start to at least try to get a grip.

Of course, this time was different. After a couple of days of assuring me nothing was wrong, the doctor asked Ethan if anything hurt and he had a list of ailments. "I feel like I have dried popsicle in my mouth -- blue popsicle -- and it's stuck. And there is water in my ears!" Considering he sure hasn't had a blue popsicle, I thought he was just babbling again but turns out he has ear infections and strep. Of course, once we leave the doctor with a diagnosis and a prescription for antibiotics, Ethan starts to act sick. Cue the drama. Meanwhile, the night before he inhaled a plate of meatloaf, potatoes and broccoli as if he wasn't riddled with infections.

Still, the recovery time kills me. Maybe because it's downtime and I don't like downtime. Maybe it's because we're stuck in the house and I hate being stuck in the looneybin -- I mean, house -- for too long. Maybe it's because he was prescribed 6 ml's of antibiotics and the damn pharmacist gave me a syringe that only goes up to 5 ml's which means two toddler-wrestling sessions to try to force the liquid chalk into his mouth.

Today is day two. The second dose of antibiotics have been administered. He's feeling just better enough to want more than a lazy afternoon on the couch, but not well enough to make any suggestion without whining, screaming and the occasional smoothie-dump-on-the-floor for effect. And the stir-craziness, oh, it has arrived. For both of us.

"I want a smoothie with peaches." "I DON'T WANT PEACHES IN IT! TAKE THEM OUT!" (You know, after it's been blended.) "I want bubbles in the tub." "I DON'T WANT BUBBLES IN THE TUB ANYMORE! GET THEM OUT!" (You know, after it's been filled.) "What is hair?" "Hair is what grows on your head, buddy." "NO! IT'S A BUNNY! A HARE IS A BUNNY! I DON'T HAVE A BUNNY ON MY HEAD, THAT IS HAIR, MOMMY!"

The sky outside is overcast. It's not helping. I'm diffusing enough OnGuard to the point where I may burn through an entire bottle in one illness.

Think of us. Keep your fingers crossed for our sanity, or whatever shards of it are left. Cheer on the antibiotics as they hopefully work before any respiratory issues are caused by these gross infections (nothing like asthma to ensure you're always on edge more than usual). We'll just be here. Stuck under this roof. Scouring Pinterest until our eyes cross.


  1. I'm so sorry, it's really hard for me to figure out when Dylan is actually sick and when he's faking it and you're right- the copays feel like a total waste when there's nothing wrong but our paranoia. I hope he gets better soon, that you get rest and some degree of sanity back ASAP

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