We just experienced The Kid's first illness. No biggie, you say. Oh lest you forget my friends? We're FTPs. First time parents.
I've been awake for 72 hours with one hand permanently attached to The Kid's forehead like my palm had freaky mom powers that could detect the slightest change in temperature. If I were a superhero this week, that would've been my super power. I lost my cool super powers like being able to produce free drinks using only my boobs long ago. Now I'm SuperMom: faster than projectile vomit, stronger than a baby trying to yank the thermometer out of his bumhole, able to leap piles of laundry in a single bound. Lamest.superhero.ever.
Our first reaction, of course, was to flip our shit, race to the closest hospital and demand expensive medical testing. Then hunt down the parents of the child who got The Kid sick and unleash fire upon their souls. After briefly being held hostage by batshit crazy, we decided to wait it out and take him to the doctor in the morning. We are still currently trying to track down Germy McSnotface's parents and sneeze directly into their eyeballs. Too much?
We did spend a small fortune at CVS stockpiling any bottle of anything that looked like it could remotely make our child feel better. They could have scribbled "magic juice" on a piece of paper, slapped it on a gallon of milk and I would have paid $20 for it.
Also, I think my pediatrician may break up with me. Which is devastating, particularly because we just started really getting to know each other. We were having a good time, ya know. Not getting too serious. Just seeing each other occasionally. Then I blew it. I think I scared her off. Calling her all the time. Begging for her to come live with me. Did you know your pediatrician can't come live with you? She said can't, but I'm pretty sure she just won't. There's the real problem with healthcare in this country. Lack of commitment.
Honestly, The Kid was pretty sick but he handled it like a trooper. He did score three whole nights of sleepovers and all night buffets. And kicked dad out of the big bed. And puked on dad's last remaining pillow on the couch. Baby winning.
In retrospect, I knew he'd be okay. And I know I have many more weird kid germ sick days in my future, but I can't help but want to protect him from everything that may cause him pain. I'd take a bullet for this little guy. I get it now. I know. Welcome to parenthood, genius. Sometimes this whole parenting thing has to punch me directly in the face for me to learn a lesson.
Oh sweet Jesus no. My husband just coughed. It can't be. Anything but this. Not the...man flu.
I quit.
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