A Pox upon Your House

I'm waiting for the locusts next. My house has been hit -- hard -- by multiple bugs of the viral sort. The bugs are breeding new bugs. It's not pretty.

I'm sick, and poor H has been struck, at ten-and-a-half months, with his first-ever bona fide illness beyond the occasional day-long sniffle. I don't know what planet I was living on, but I basically thought he would never get sick because, well, he hadn't ever gotten sick. I thought maybe the betamethasone shots he got in utero had given him a superhuman immune system. Magical thinking, anyone?

But of course it hit him (I mean, he sits there with other kids and licks already-licked toys -- this is not complex science) at the end of this week, coming on slowly with more frequent, messier dirty diapers and a horrendous diaper rash that had him writhing in pain on the changing table any time we dared put him down there. Some Triple Paste, per the smart recommendation of a friend, and some prescription anti-fungal cream at least has this under control.

By Tuesday afternoon, the poor boy was harboring a seal in his throat with a hacking cough and a fever, so back to the pedi's office we went. He's been running an on-again, off-again fever and had bad congestion and coughing ever since. And he just looks up at me with these sad, vacant eyes. Why don't they put a warning label about this in pregnancy and parenting books?

The pedi's office, enjoying -- I am sure -- the daily phone call (wish I were kidding) from yours truly providing a play-by-play on H's developing symptoms, has assured me that this is a garden-variety bug or set of bugs that will clear his system soon enough. But I, ever the paranoid, ever the neurotic, ever the over-thinking mom, am wringing my hands and wishing I could kiss it all away for my little boy.