The Sick Ward...

This past weekend, our house has been converted into a sick house as Scott and I have both been sick. Robby has been healthy and has been taking full advantage of sluggish parents and lax rules.

I have been dealing with a cough and fever for a few days and suspected that walking pneumonia was brewing. I have developed an unsavory track record of coming down with pneumonia every year, and I am familiar with the symptoms. I called my doctor and I was started on antibiotics.

I was thankful for the weekend. With Scott being home, I knew that I would be afforded the opportunity to rest. I am traveling to Chicago on Tuesday for the AOPA conference, and I will need to be as healthy as possible. Although the work isn't physically difficult, I am expected to stand and talk with people for 8 to 10 hours every day. It is tiring.

Saturday morning I heard "Peggy! Peggy!" being squawked from the bathroom. I instantly knew that my weekend plans of respite and recovery were destroyed. Scott was sick.

I don't want to offend my male readers. Ladies, I'm sure you will agree. There is nothing worse than a sick man! Men are depicted as "stronger," yet a simple virus will lay them up in bed for days, nursing their illness with requests for fluffed pillows, chicken soup and ginger ale. Women can contract the same illness and continue about their day with only a tissue tucked into their pocket as an indicator of their illness.

I quickly discovered after Robby was born that there are no sick days for Mommies. Daddies can stay in bed all day and nurse a cold or recover from vomiting, but Mommies cannot. When both Mommy and Daddy are sick, Mommy must continue about the care taking and household duties regardless of her health. With Scott sick, the responsibility for caring for a bored toddler fell upon me.

I took my antibiotic and some Tylenol and took him to McDonald's Playland. The noise gave me a headache, and the smell of the food made me nauseous. Considering these factors, it was still the best option available. I was hoping that I could sit quietly and Robby would run around, releasing some pent up energy.

After two hours of Playland fun, I packed him up to go to the grocery store. Scott called and requested that I find some medication. Despite knowing that only time and ice chips would help, I knew that it easier to simply comply.

On the way into the grocery store, I asked Robby if he was going to be a good boy. He paused, looked at me with a cherub faced grin and said, "No Momom. Robby run amuck and be a hellion."

At least he was honest and provided me warning of his intent. As soon as we entered the store, he took off in full sprint. He paused only long enough to pull the coupons out of the automatic coupon machines, leaving them littered behind him. Up and down the aisles we sprinted until I finally corralled him in the seafood area (the lobsters always slow him down.) I put him in the cart, strapped his little Robby Rotten bum to the seat and ignored his screams.

Scott was still in his sick bed when we returned, mumbling that he hadn't vomited in nearly six hours. He complained of being weak, and thought it best to stay in bed and rest. He had no fever. My fever at this point was 102.8.

I bribed Robby into staying still by giving him cookie dough and letting him watch Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs (again). I took the opportunity to put Vapor rub on my chest, hoping to ease the cough. I put on a thick coating, covered it with a towel and was getting ready to put the heating pad on my chest.

From out of nowhere, I was attacked by Robby's new kitten Charlie. It was like a scene from out of a cartoon. His fur was on end and he was possessed. Before I knew it, I had an orange kitten drooling and clawing all over my chest, hissing and gurgling. I tried to pull him off, but his claws kept digging into my flesh.

It was then I remembered that cats are attracted to the menthol in the vapor rub. Charlie was in drug like stance, trying desperately to get to the source of his fix. The fact that it was smeared on my chest was merely an inconvenience for him and was not going to stand in his way!

Knowing that I needed to keep Robby busy while I cleaned up, I gave him container of vanilla ice cream and a spoon. I took a shower, washed the now bloody vapor rub from my chest and applied Neosporin.

By 7:30 I was exhausted. I showed Robby that the sun went down, and told him it was time to go to bed. He went downstairs to say goodnight to his Daddy. Scott lifted his head from the pillow, looked at the clock, and told Robby that it was too early to go to bed. I can only assume that my husband made this statement because he was in a state of delirium from his illness!

I vetoed Scott and put Robby Rotten to bed. I was surprised at how quickly he fell asleep; I was a little concerned that he would suffer from a sugar high. I fell asleep by 8:00 hoping to feel better after a good night sleep and hoping my meds would soon kick in.

**I will be in a lot of trouble with my husband if I failed to mention that he recovered on Sunday. I was able to take a nap!**