My New Normal

I am still sick. However, I have come to the unfortunate conclusion, after seven days of this, that I may very well never feel healthy again in my lifetime. So if this hacking, gagging, choking, snotting version of myself is going to be the new norm, I may as well get used to it and get back to the business at hand.....blogging. That said, I am staring at a blank screen through my Dayquil- and Robitussin-induced fog trying to come up with something to write about.

My children have been sick all week, as well. Lucas has yet to go to school this week. And I doubt he will go tomorrow either, as he was still running a bit of a fever this morning. Ruanita has been the lone hold-out. The only remaining healthy person in the house. The poor soul forced to tend to the sick masses. It's funny to me how extremely different my children behave when they are sick.

My little Nicholas is pitiful. He asks absolutely nothing of anyone. He sits and stares off into space. At some point in the afternoon every day this week, he has grabbed his beloved blankies, walked to his bedroom, climbed into his bed, and tucked himself in for a nap. Without saying a single word to anyone. As a matter of fact, he has done very little other than sleep and play the Wii this week. When he is sick, his little body shuts down and he just sleeps it off until he is well again. I wish my body reacted that way. Instead, I lay in bed wide awake, obsessing over the odd wheezing noises coming from my lungs every time I exhale.

Lucas is somewhat similar to Nicholas in the way he manages being sick. He doesn't sleep as much as Nicky, though he has asked me at around 6:00pm every night this week if he could go to bed yet. Lucas' anxiety tends to come out a bit when he gets sick. He has asked me several times this week if I think I should take him to the doctor. I've diligently explained that his illness is viral and that there is simply not much a doctor can do for him. Unfortunately, my reassurances do little to ease his mind. Last night, as I was tucking him in, he looked at me with his big blue eyes (marred by the giant dark bags sitting directly below them) and said, "Momma, what if I never get better?" I assured him he would most certainly get better. I explained that his body is strong and is working hard to fight off the viral invaders. This seemed to ease his mind a bit. I am afraid he will continue to worry, however, until he is completely better. He asks little of anyone. Rather, he kind of retreats into his own little worrying head and frets until he feels better.

Sophie is nothing like her brothers when she is ill. She does not sleep. She does not fret. She does not stare off into space asking nothing of anyone. No, Sophie is the complete opposite. Sophie commands attention. Sophie follows me from room to room, loudly describing her every ache and pain. She demands juice. She demands Tylenol. She demands her blankies. She wants to be held. Then she doesn't. She wants you to kiss her and hug her. Then she doesn't. She wants to eat. Then she doesn't. Sophie wants to be waited on when she is sick. She wants her every whim to be met with immediate gratification. She wants to describe her illness in detail and she wants everyone to respond with nothing but resounding sympathy for her plight. Never mind that her brothers are also sick. Never mind that mommy is coughing up a lung. When she is sick, Sophie's world revolves around Sophie alone. Luckily for me, she was the first one to contract this particular virus. Therefore, she was also the first one to finally start feeling better. As of yesterday, she is on the mend. She is fever-free and returning to her usual self. The rein of the Diseased Dictator is coming to an end. The precious seeds of liberty and freedom are once again taking root in my home. Ding-dong the witch is dead. Which old witch? The wicked witch. Ding-dong the wicked witch is dead ...