Okay, he's not my friend, particularly. But we are currently joined at the hip - well, at the head. My head, his - um, receptor - okay, suffice it to say that I have a head cold.
At least I made it through Reading Rocks. And I didn't start to feel truly cruddy until after PJ was most of the way recovered from his crud, being a truly nasty ear infection. The kind that just shows up out of nowhere, with zero warning until your kid starts hollering his head off, and less than two hours later, when you get worked in at the doctor (ON VALENTINE'S DAY NIGHT), the doctor informs you that, not only is your child's ear severely infected, but his eardrum may actually burst. Seriously? Because, like, TWO HOURS AGO, ALL WAS RIGHT WITH THE WORLD. I guess the downside to having children with extremely high pain tolerances is that stuff is gonna sneak up on you.
But, apparently, we reacted in time, because his eardrum did not burst (although his new favorite word is "rupture" - he likes to work it into conversation). Thanks to a whopping antibiotic shot in the thigh (which he took like a trooper and insists was administered using a syringe made out of an actual tree trunk - "IT WAS HUGE, AND IT WAS MADE COMPLETELY OUT OF WOOD"), an oral antibiotic and two types of ear drops (one of them a numbing agent), he actually slept through the night on Day 1, was pretty chipper the following day and, by Day 3, showed every sign of having recovered. Good thing, because around dinner time on Day 2, Mom came to terms with the fact of her own respiratory distress, crawled into bed "just for a bit" - and slept fourteen hours. You would think that, after fourteen hours, I would be substantially improved. YOU WOULD THINK.
Yeah, not so much.
You parents out there know that this is how it always goes: Child gets sick. While tending to Child, Parent gets sick. Child recovers, but isn't sufficiently recovered to return to school, so Parent must deal with Child who is NOW BOUNCING OFF OF THE WALLS when, really, all Parent wants to do is sleep, and not interact with anyone, let alone a hyperactive little person who is insistent that you WATCH THEM DO THINGS.
Now it is the night of Day 3 (okay, technically we've rolled over to the wee hours of Day 4), and I can't sleep on account of (1) getting too much sleep the night before, (2) my head feeling like an overinflated Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon and (3) the running faucet that seems to have replaced my nose on the front of my face.
Logging off and chugging Nyquil. Nighty-night from Yours Truly and her bestie, Mr. Head Cold.
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