Germ warfare has begun in my house. The King - as cute and cuddly as he is - has clearly established himself as a illness magnet. It is quite astonishing really considering his size, but to my complete amazement, he is able to bring home just about any illness going at the moment and does so about once a week. Which of course means that in due course mommy, that’s me, is struck down like a dog and must battle right alongside him. Obviously the kid has sharing down to a fine art. I of course take this as a sign of his profound love for me.
The funny thing is, whatever he catches seems to strike me four times harder. I attribute this to my fatigue, age and the fact that I’ve always had an immune system like John Travolta in that plastic bubble movie (for those of you that have not seen this 70s classic, oh you must. The hilarity!!) Case in point, yesterday just as my son projectile vomited all over himself, the rug, his toys etc, what does he do? He smiles, reaches for his vomit soaked toy and resumes playing. Meanwhile, I was horizontal, clutching onto the toilet base crying out for the bad man to stop. Shows you who is the baby out of the two of us. Just to truly show me who has the balls in the family, he even threw up all over the bed last night and managed to sleep through until the morning. Now that is one hell of a determined sleeper. For those of you thinking my parenting skills need work, when we checked on him he was vomit free, we’re not totally sadistic.
The thing that baffles me is how one is supposed to take care of a little seven month old squirming, vomiting, squawking blob – and I say that with the utmost of endearment – when one is turning three shades of green herself. It is not an easy task, I can assure you and of course further proves the amazing power of women (who am I kidding, I cried like a baby and called in for reinforcements!) There is a lot of horizontal play where I have my head on the floor while the King laughs at me and throws things at my head; and then of course there are the many distractions that one is warned against but throws themselves headlong into when the situation arises – yes, I’m talking about the good ol TV. God bless you television and DVD player, cause when the gastro strikes, the idiot box is just about the only thing going to buy you that precious fifteen minutes of carpet dozing.
My sister gently explained to me that the next two years of my life with the King is going to be awash in vomit, snot, coughs, snifflles and every germ from here to Guam. So in short, I better prepare myself.In light of this, I think I may have to go get one of those bubble things installed in the house – for me of course, not the King.