I woke up this morning with a familiar stinging tingle in my throat which tells me I’m getting a cold. It’s great; a cold is exactly what I wanted. A cold is the perfect bow to put on the gift of subzero temperatures that has been our winter. I’m sure I’ve been surrounded by sick people for weeks but I know exactly where to pin the blame for my illness: my snotty little children.
The baby, at seven months old, really can’t be held responsible but I’m going to do it anyhow. I’m sure she got sick from her older sister (more on that one in a moment) and can’t help herself from passing it along. The thing about babies that can’t be stressed enough is that they are frickin gross. The baby has no problem SNEEZING DIRECTLY INTO MY FACE WHEN MY MOUTH IS OPEN. If anyone else did that I would immediately poke them in the eyes and karate chop their windpipe. I might slash their tires and pee in their purse for good measure. But since this is my precious little gift from above and she doesn’t have a pocketbook into which I can tinkle, I have to take it.
She looks so proud of herself after she does it, too. She has a big toothless smile with drool and snot running down her face and a sparkle in her big gray eyes that just screams “Haha Mommy! You’re legally required to love me even after I infect you!” Now I get to enjoy staying up with a sick baby while also basking in the fun of suffering from a cold myself.
The cold I’m getting could have come from the toddler. She’s like a sickness machine. If she was an animal, she’d be one of those lab monkies that break out of their cage and bite a scientist and then the scientist gets on a plane and the world is now infected with a superplague. That’s the toddler.
In addition to sneezing right in my face like the baby she also has to smear her snot all over everything like Satan’s own finger paint. She’s old enough to be bothered by having a runny nose but not mature enough yet to know to blow it in a tissue. Instead, she wipes her nose on every square inch of each chair and couch in the house if she’s left to her own devices. I leave the room for two minutes to make a cup of coffee and I come back to what looks like a horde of slugs has fought a valiant battle for the forces of good on the loveseat. IT’S DISGUSTING. If you are gross out by that imagery then congratulations! You have a fully functioning cerebral cortex. If you think it’s gross try living with it. I spend my day scrubbing nose goo off furniture in between sneeze-facials.
I’m going to try to preemptively destroy this cold by powerchugging fluids like a frat boy and employing the power of wishing. If there was an old gypsy woman I could trade my soul to so I wouldn’t get sick I would. I might sacrifice a goat to an ancient South American native deity. If Quetzacoatl can’t keep me well while being surround by these snotty rugrats, no one can.