Thursday, February 16, 2012

A plague on our house

Since about mid-December, at least one person in my house has been sick at any given time. This by far is the sickest winter our household has ever experienced, and it's beginning to wear on me. I do wash, I do disinfect, I've Lysoled the entire house, and yet it continues to happen. At this point I'm getting ready to drink a glass of bleach.

Unfortunately, the hardest hit has been the littlest one. Maybe it's just because she hasn't been around as long as the rest of us that her immune system still has some toughening up to do. So, it seems like every single time she finishes a round of antibiotics, and we celebrate "no more medicine!" before bed every night, just a few days later, she's coughing again. Which no doubt signals the beginning of yet another bout of illness.

Colette is a little ray of sunshine, even on the cloudiest, most dismal winter days, so for her to get sick over and over again just doesn't seem fair. Every single day, she's an explorer looking for treasure... or an agent trying to diffuse bombs (masked as air vents in the walls)... or she is a princess waving to her subjects in front of the castle. Every day, I hear dramatic screams of terror coming from her squinkies, her zhu-zhu pets are attending a ball in her wooden play castle, or marbles and flower-shaped buttons are having in-depth conversations with each other. She says "ribbit" and hops like a frog around the house, or she is jumping out from behind a door and yelling "BOO!" (Sometimes she succeeds, sometimes she doesn't.)

When she's really sick, the pretend play wanes and she lies on the couch looking tired and miserable. That's when I know that she can skip dinner, get a cold washcloth placed on her head, and watch as much TV as she wants before an early bedtime comes around. But, usually, even when she's feeling under the weather, her imagination still feels perfectly fine and new adventures arise every day.

The mundanity of stay-at-home parenthood hiccups when a child is sick. As sick and tired as I am of the ongoing sickness in my house, a sick child is something special. It's true that while an ill child will tack on at least an extra half an hour of prep before bedtime (ibuprofen, cold medicine, blowing noses, putting aquaphor on that same red, irritated nose, temperature-taking, and Vicks out the wazoo), tending to your ailing child is always a bit of a smack in the face to remind you that what you're doing really is Important. (I hate seemingly random capitalizations, but that one deserved it.)

I was reminded of this the other night when Colette woke up, crying and sweaty, nearly choking on her own phlegm that once again was proving to be too much for her little body. She needed relief, and unfortunately she was already medicated to the max at that particular point. We tried to sit her up to help relieve some of the congestion, which was hard to do as she was so tired she kept flopping back down onto the bed, and I got a washcloth dampened with cold water and put it on her head. Instantly, she started to calm down... I cooled her head, her neck, and unzipped the top of her sleeper to cool her neck and chest. She was still stuffy, and not entirely comfortable, but for the time, she was at least comforted.

After a while, I told her she needed some more rest. As I was leaving the room, I said our customary "I love you" which is our last exchange before I leave her to sleep. She said something low. I couldn't understand what it was and tried to figure out what she wanted. Water? A tissue? Another hug?

"What is it, honey?" I asked tentatively.

A pause, and then she spoke. "Ribbit," she said weakly.

My poor sick little sweetie. Don't worry, you're getting better again.