Sniffle Sniffle

It's silly I know. But when I don't feel good I want to be taken care of. I want to be made Acini di Pepe with Parmesan. I want to curl into a ball and watch mindless television. I want to sleep until I feel like waking up. I want to moan and complain and not feel guilty about it.

I am not one of those people who gets "sorta" sick. Usually, when I am sick, I am down for the count.

I have the knack for being stupidly sick. A cold that lasts days, a flu that lasts weeks. In mid-January, like clockwork, I get my arse kicked by something that forces me to stay in bed, chewing Halls, blowing my nose a thousand times, sweating and shaking with the chills. It's lovely.

And lucky me, over the past four-ish days I have been sick. Jessica sick.
I woke up in Cleveland with sore throat on Sunday. At lunch it was a wickedly uncomfortable throat. By the time we were driving south on I-71 it was on fire. And I was clammy. And achy. Then the sneezing started, and the endlessly running nose.

Oh, and did I mention that my mini-me was coughing? And sneezing? And had a green river of goo flowing out of her nose? And had sad, glassy eyes?

Turns out when you're sick, and you're the mommy, and your kiddo is sick...there is no time for you to be taken care of. You've got to be a little tougher. You drop $45 in medicine and tissues and cough drops at CVS. You watch The Lion King because it makes the little one happy and less snuffly. And you go to bed at 8:45, fifteen minutes after the kiddo goes to bed, and you don't feel guilty about it.

It also turns out that the little one bounces back faster and doesn't particularly care if you have bounced back or not. She wakes up at 6:30 ready to take on the world. She wants to color, to play her game (more on that game at another time), she wants to jump and hop and go to the park and story time and down the slide in the back yard.

So I've learned, when they bounce back, you fake it. You go to park, and story time, and into the backyard armed with hand sanitizer, and Halls, and tissues in your purse. And you remember fondly the days when your mommy would rent you The Princess Bride and let you lay on the couch and take care of you.

And you get over it, because there is a nose to wipe, and it's not yours.