Wait, did I say there was any good? No no, that’s not what I meant. There is NOTHING good about having sick kids.
I mean, sure, they aren’t as bat-shit crazy as they usually are, but even that I can’t weigh as a positive when they feel like total crap and replace the crazy with whine, and if you ask me- there is nothing on this planet more obnoxious and annoying as the sound of whining.
Considering I don’t really go anywhere or do anything, I am mind boggled as to how, exactly, sickness made its way into this house and started with me.
And of course, OF-FUCKING-COURSE, as soon as I get better, everyone else catches it.
First Parker, then Thomas, and then Holden.
What is worse than 2 sick kids, might you ask? 3 sick kids. Men are big fat babies when they’re sick. If you’re lucky enough to have one who doesn’t whine even louder than your children- consider yourself lucky.
Actually, I take that back, calling Thomas a kid… That’s kind of insulting to the children; there is NOTHING worse than a sick man.
Parker and his hacking without covering his mouth and the constant stream of clear snot running from his head making me run around like a chicken with my head cut off attempting to contain it all, me with the sore throat and the pounding amount of snot that was clouding my brain on and off for the past few weeks… and then there’s Holden with his CONSTANT stream of excuses about why he can’t do anything at all but be positively infuriating:
“I’m too itchy to clean up my toys”
“I think my stomach is too irritated to take a nap”
“My neck hurts. The back, no the front… no the back! It hurts too much to drink my milk”
It really just can’t get much more irritating than that. I know the kid feels like shit (at one point his temp was around 104, but went right down)- but even now that he’s feeling better, he still seems to think he can play the “sick” card.
What the hell ever happened to cough syrup/liquid tylenol tasting like absolute asshole? My kids FIGHT over it now, which let me tell you, might make you want to run away with your arms flailing above your head and screaming in tongues when one of them DOES not need medicine. IT’S NOT CANDY! I’d rather have to pin them down and dump it into their mouths than have them fighting over the miniature cup like a bunch of crack heads.
And then of course, there is the seemingly irresistible urge for them to constantly be spitting in each others mouths. Yes, because i’m sure that really helps this crap not to keep circling us like a pack of hungry vultures.
Still, all of that combined, is not nearly as annoying as Thomas hacking in my ear for hours upon hours on end. What is it about children that makes their snotting and hacking more tolerable than a grown man? Is it because we pushed them out of our parts and therefore, to us, they will always be the most precious wittle thing on earth and can do no wrong ??
Let me tell you, the pillows surrounding me on the couch last night were looking mighty-fucking-tempting, especially after those hacks kept me up the entire previous night.
A sleepless mommy is not a mommy you want to meet. Especially not THIS one.
All annoyances aside, the sickness has started to mess with my brain. Not just in the patience area, or the sleep area, or the ‘no, I love my husband and don’t want to smother him’ area… but in the SANITY department.
Last night, after i’d crawled into bed and made myself comfortable -and tried to fall asleep before Thomas came upstairs so that his hacks would not once again keep me awake- he comes barreling into our bedroom.
“You don’t hear that??”
“Don’t hear what?” – I was puzzled. All I heard was silence, if you can consider that a sound; I also have terrible hearing.
“The loud whistling”
WHISTLING? Now I thought the sickness had gone to his head. I sat up, turned my head to the side to get my ear closer to whatever phantom noise he claimed to be hearing… nothing.
“It’s coming from Holden’s bedroom”- I jumped the FUCK OUT OF BED. That is NOT the type of thing you say to someone who believes their home to be haunted and has done far too much in depth research on the paranormal, believing Holden to be the most prone to these types of occurrences.
I whipped out of the bedroom and around the corner and pressed my ear to Holden’s door. Sure enough, there was a faint whistle coming from his room, but not the whistle of a ghost or poltergeist or some freaky “man” that he claims to live under his bed, no… It was HIS NOSE.
His NOSE was whistling.
Never was there a time where the pillows were calling to me more loudly. Damn Thomas. Damn BOOGERS. DAMN SICKNESS!
Another night of hacking and nose whistling may just be the end of me.
I am weak pic.twitter.com/LYdRQ6EZcC
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