Adventures in Catching the Plague from Your Kids

For three solid weeks, I endured one illness after another. My six-year-old unfortunately is “that kid” that goes to school healthy but comes home with every bug on the block, which then further infects others in our home—usually my two toddlers. And when toddlers get sick, it’s pretty much like pandemonium on steroids. How do you control the snot-factor? The sneezing and coughing? How do you control the poop and the puke? You can’t. They simply don’t understand what is happening to their baby bodies, and so you’re left with buttloads of laundry, a diseased house, and prayers that you’re not the next victim.

But of course, you are.

In true Murphy’s Law fashion (because constantly cleaning all of it up, lack of sleep, lack of social life, lack of light-of-day-except-to-go-to-the-doctor’s isn’t enough) you’re the next (and usually last) one. And, for whatever reason, doesn’t it always seem like eleventy-billion times worse when you get it? When the kids are sick, they still want to eat, to drink, to play. For crying out loud, it takes an act of Congress, meds that make them sleepy, or a staple gun to get them to rest and recuperate properly. But not us! For us, it’s like the plague has reached its hand down, scooped us up in its grip, squeezing the ever-loving life out of us, until we’re one big flattened ball of parent, shivering on the couch wanting our mothers. Right?

And even worse, when we’re the sick ones, they’re the healthy ones. With lots of pent-up energy. Oh yes! It’s go time!

“Let’s go outside, mom!”

“To the park, mama!”

“Can we take a walk today?”

“Watch me ride my bike!”

Meanwhile, you’re limping from room-to-room, bracing the walls in attempt to not fall over while striving to keep your eyes open, hoping to drug yourself into a stupor so you can semi-function. But they’re too young to understand, let alone to take care of you.

Until your youngest brings you a roll of toilet tissue when you sneeze. “Hue ya doe (Here ya go), mama!”

Sigh. Cute little stinkers they are. Too bad they can’t keep their germs to themselves.


About Lisa D.

Once upon a time, Lisa was born and raised in New York, a land where there was a corner deli, Italian restaurant, and Dunkin Donuts with delicious coffee on every corner. And, despite horrific traffic, accents and expletives a-plenty, life seemed to make sense. Enter an Army husband, six kids (b. 1995, 1999, 2000, 2004, 2007 and 2008) and three states later, her family of eight are living the military life in the (very) deep south far from anything familiar, let alone making sense. Once a business management major, Lisa now uses her management skills to keep soccer practices, doctors appointments and juggling six kids' schedules in order, all while trying to cram their big family into small Army housing. You can find her regularly McGyvering things back together using shoelaces and bubble gum with a breastfed baby on her hip, all while baking from scratch and pretending her hair color isn't from a bottle. She finds sanity in gardening, baking cookies, working out so she can eat bake more cookies, playing with her family, and writing about her parenting (mis)adventures. Lisa can also be found at seeking sanity in the bottom of her coffee cup.

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