In which your humble narrator discovers that his progeny are little more than tiny incubators for disease germs and laments the brain fever of Child #1.
I don't get sick very often, or rather, I should say that I used to not get sick often. Since the birth of Child #1 I've had four or five colds, two sinus infections and varicella-zoster (chicken pox for big boys!). And the children are sick again. It's only been six weeks since they were sick the last time. At least this time, snot doesn't seem to be a major component. And I'm sick again. And it's not too bad, but it's lingering. Everyone's been out of sorts since the day after Thanksgiving.
I should mention that Child #1 goes completely crazy when he's running a fever. It overheats his brain and rather than laying around feeling lousy, he careens around the house caroming off of and colliding with furniture, the cats, the floor, Child #2, toys, his parents, and anything else easily accessible. I feel lousy and all I want to do is lay on the couch and watch television. He feels lousy and wants to jump off the couch and hang from the light fixtures. The baby feels lousy, but she just mostly wants me to keep reinserting her pacifier every five minutes so she knows I'm still paying attention to her.
I'm pretty sure that from an evolutionary perspective it's much better to be cute and pitiful when you're sick than manic and insane. Yesterday with a fever of almost 100 degrees, Child #1 actually ran laps around the coffee table for about 10 minutes.
We're spending the morning upstairs since it's the room with the least hazards and the most padding (big bed, carpeting). I believe we may have gone for two hours without any new bruises.
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