This here is my baby. He’s 14 and all, but he’s still my baby. He’s sick. Like, he never gets sick. I JUST wrote this whole status message about how he has a stomach of steel and apparently skin of steel too, because he avoided the cooties of the three amigos for the last week. Then he came home from his first day back to school.
He looked like death warmed over.
Swollen eyes, pale face,fever,headache and an itchy throat. It was all that I could do to keep from hugging him – plus I kind of like not being sick. He then went upstairs and slept. For six hours. Then came back downstairs to clean up dog pee (gotta love the responsible side of him) and promptly passed back out on the couch with his two sisters and a brother who is now getting over the cooties and terrorizing everyone else.
I can’t even lie. The cellist and I have been bumping heads lately. I mean, he’s 14. He’s moody. He’s a teenager, and they seem to CHANGE into something subhuman at times while they are transitioning into young adults. However, seeing him sick is killing me. He doesn’t whine. He doesn’t get all clingy, he just shuts down completely and kind of waits for it to be over, and we try not to bother him. Like, I’m going to be a GREAT mother (if you disagree I wish crabs on you) and walk the dog tomorrow – in the snow – which I like – but dog poop and snow aren’t awesome. Plus, we had such a great winter break with the amount of talking that we did – actual talking, that I’ll take one for the team.
The fact that he made banana bread for the family, and was open to learning things while on break makes me happy to take care of him for at least a day or two. After that, we just have to see where we are in negotiations.
Until then, send get well vibes to the Nicholes’ household because we are under attack by the cooties, and you all KNOW what will happen if Mr. Houseful gets sick. Game. Over.