When Kids are Sick

I learned a valuable lesson this weekend when it comes to sick kids. Never roll your eyes at your concerned wife. It has a tendency to ruin marital bliss. Now, I am not sleeping on the couch because of it, nor are we not speaking to each other. Mother's worry, father's roll eyes. Father's tell kids to "rub some dirt on it," when approached with a partially detached appendage. Mother's will rush to the E.R. It is the Venus/Mars scenario in real life. I just rolled my eyes. OOPS....

My son has a URI. Not to be mistaken for a distant drunken Russian relative, a URI is a Upper Respiratory Infection. Not infarction. Don't use that term around mothers either. It tends to lead to panic attacks. It is sort of like saying "bomb" in an airport, minus the FAA marshals tackling you. It could be a number of things. I say cold, she says tumor. I say congestion, she says Leukemia. I say drainage or an ear infection, she says Last Rights. Get my point? It is a travesty that my son is suffering through a cold....err, Bronchitis or pneumonia. Here is the kicker. He knows the minute he coughs when the sun is down, someone will come hold him. Now, in defense of my wife, his cough is bigger than he is. That says a lot since his dinner consisted of a water buffalo and a keg of beer. He really is miserable; cranky and somewhat lethargic. I do feel bad for him. I really do. But factor in my wife saying he just "threw up the Hudson River. He must be starving," and I lose a bit of sympathy for him. Thank God he didn't have a hangnail too, lest we would throw him into a plastic bubble.

Last night, after he rolled over and caused such a clatter, my mother-in-law and wife ran upstairs to see what was the matter. And what to their wondering eyes did appear? A kid in a crib. OH MY! Not that. Quick get him out of that thing before it implodes and takes him with it! So, he came downstairs and my wife made him a three ounce bottle. Three ounces? That small amount of food would aggravate a Rwandan. Go big or go home. He sucked that down and of course was pissed that he was short changed sixty-four ounces. So I got up to make more. With my back turned and only God as HER witness, he began to cough, gag and then I heard what was the "shot heard round the world." BRING A TOWEL! So I did. I brought a bedsheet...err....kitchen towel to mop up what I thought was vomit. I saw some drool. Nothing resembling formula or phlegm interlaced with formula. Just some drool. I said, "what happened?" BIG mistake. "He just threw up. He has to be starving." She doesn't watch many documentaries about the famine in Africa. Threw up? When I throw up, it is obvious. Hell, when anyone throws up, it is obvious. I did not see obvious. My eyes were starting to roll. I asked, "what did he throw up," to which my wife replied, "the 3 ounces he just ate." Now, remember...I saw the three ounces in the bottle. I remember its volume. I remember the color and the smell. Formula smells like sweaty gym socks left in a hot car on a summers....let's say...fortnight. It stinks, OK? Regurgitated formula smells a little worse. His burps resemble Acetone. Don't smell it. Don't see it anywhere, but it still happened, right? Wrong. Eyes roll in direct sight of the mother. OOPS again.

So then the hugs and rocking comes. He is crying, mostly to peel away from the Mommy velcro and just drink the bottle. That and he is tired. VERY tired. Mostly, if I was in his head, I would bet his words were, "I promise I won't cough anymore if you just lay me back in my bed." He had more drugs in him than Jimmy Hendrix. He was so delirious, he probably didn't know what he wanted. Eyes rolled again. Then I heard Britney, "OOPS I did it again...." He did eat...he did sleep and all is well. he will go see the doctor today. Before you stone me to death, I did apologize to my wife for rolling my eyes. Everyone has the right to worry. Just not all the time . =)