Cheyenne missed a day of school this past Wednesday because she was not feeling well. It is a rare occasion when that happens. She is not a fan of missing school. I am not sure who her family is as I am sure she was switched at birth. All three of my other children would have jumped at the chance to miss a day of school when they were kids. With Cheyenne, I must insist she stay home so as not to infect others.
Cheyenne had what seemed to be a cold with some additional aches and pains. It wasn’t really flu like, but more obnoxious than the run of the mill cold. Like the good mommy I am, I immediately put in place my “DO NOT GET MOM SICK” protocol. That protocol elevates the level of awareness and precautions taken to ensure that the chance of me getting the malady is substantially reduced. In this hyper-vigilant state every cough or sneeze in my direction makes me noticeably cringe.
On Thursday, Mike came home from work complaining about a cold and stomach ache. Like the good girlfriend I am, I immediately put in place my “DO NOT GET THE GIRLFRIEND SICK” protocol. This a much more challenging protocol as Mike sleeps in the same bed and can liberally spew a whole collection of germs on me all night long without my knowledge. Seeing as I have found no way to tent his side of the bed yet, I have to be purposeful in making sure my back is to him while sleeping. At least I can then avoid his coughs and sneezes making direct contact with my face.
Well, I am not an idiot. I can see the writing on the tissue box – that nasty cold, misery making illness – whatever it is – is coming my way. I cannot insulate myself from the germ mecca that breeds around me. It is coming for me.
I am unhappy about this. I do not have the time or patience for all the coughing, sneezing, sniffling, nose blowing, and post nasal drip. My throat is starting to hurt as I type this and a pronounced scowl is evident. Cheyenne and Mike better put in place the “OH CRUD WE GOT MOM SICK” protocol. They are going to need it to get through this next week with me…that and a few boxes of tissues.
Day one thousand five hundred and forty-nine of the new forty – obla di obla da