22 June 2012

When Daddies Become Babies

Yes, as much as I hate to admit it, I am indeed, a walking, talking, coughing, moaning, whimpering stereotype. I am sooooo sick. And I am sooooo miserable. The coughing, the dripping nose, the throat that feels like it's been sandblasted. The way the world spins when Sweetheart rolls her eyes at me so hard it makes me dizzy. But it's all her fault this time! She made me sick.

Well, actually, she made the boy sick, who made the girl sick. The girl then spread around that mystery goo that preschoolers produce when they get a cold. You know, that slimy concoction of various bodily fluids that they seem to have a primal need to spread everywhere they can reach. Especially on their OCD Daddy. I tell ya, I've overcome many of my previous OCD hangups and compulsions, but man alive, a sick kid produces things that just shouldn't be seen or experienced by anyone over the age of five!

I was fine. I had missed this round of crud. I was home-free. Everyone else had pretty much recovered and I was celebrating my dodging of the bullet. Then my throat started tickling. Then I woke up and it felt like some crazy troll had drug his hobnail boots through my trachea. My vocal cords were tattered and throbbing. And I knew my celebration had been premature.

Yes, I admit it. I am definitely a baby when I get sick.

My Sweetheart is such a stoic when she's sick. Let her get a headache and she'll work through it until she starts snapping at people from the pain and I force her to take a pain pill. Let her get a sore throat and I won't even know about it til she goes hoarse. Unless I catch it, that is. Course, let her push out a baby and she sure as shootin' lets the world know she hurts. She dang near broke my hand with the first one. Of course, she said it was all my fault, because my family tends to produce large babies.

Hmmm. I bet that's why she made me sick.