So I'm sick. I don't want to be, but I am. I've decided that this is the last day, whether my body wants it to be or not. I don't have time for this.
It started when I woke up this past Saturday morning, the day we left Mexico. But before you start screaming "swine flue" I don't even know whether or not it's the flu. I have no idea how to gauge these things, because...I'm not a mom.
I know. That sounds completely ridiculous, but I've got this deeply held belief that moms have automatic knowledge of all things illness-related. My mom could totally pwn Dr. House, given the chance. At least, in my mind she could.
Step 1: Go into Mom and Dad's room. Make a miserable face and in your weakest, I'm-so-strained-with-sick-agony-I-can-barely-speak voice, "I don't feel good."
That kid knows what's up.
Step 2: Mom feels your throat and maybe your forehead before saying either, "You're fine. Get ready for school" (damn!) or "Go back to bed. I'll be in in a minute with the thermometer." (damn!).
Thermometers. Ugh. The bane of every child everywhere.
Step 3: Go into room and make yourself as hot as possible. This could involve getting under the covers and breathing into your blankets so you look flushed and sweaty (safest but least effective), or exerting yourself without making noise so she doesn't know you're running around. For me, this meant standing in place and flailing. This succeeded in making me sweaty and turning my cheeks red, but it also got me out of breath. I wanted to look like I had a cold, not like I needed an organ transplant. Doctor trips are trouble. But they do buy you at least half a day... The goal of all of that is to look sick enough that a thermometer isn't necessary, and to raise your temperature so that you really do appear to be sick (you're a little kid...you don't know how internal temperatures work).
I can't find an appropriate picture for the flailing. Shocking, I know.
Step 4: Mom comes in with thermometer. Luckily, I have 3 younger sisters, so she was too busy with getting them out the door to monitor me. We also always had old-school under-the-tongue thermometers. As soon as she's gone, proceed to sheet-breathing or stationary-flailing again. One time I put my thermometer on a nearby light bulb and totally blew my cover. A fever of 173?! Good job, spazzo.
So not buying it.
Step 5: Mom checks temperature and either says you're fine (giving you, like, 2 minutes to get ready for school) or says you can stay home.
At this point, if you DO get to stay home...she still knows. And in my house, this meant being stuck in my room without access to TV and eating really bland food. If you can't lay around and watch TV, what is the POINT, right?? Ferreal.
Man, I just thought I was the sneakiest. I'd lay my flawless untruth groundwork and she'd just roll her eyes at me. The woman is a fortress of not-buying-it.
Anyway, that's why I'm sure once I'm a mom I'll be able to diagnose everything. Feel lumps in the throat...swollen tonsils. Spots in throat...strep throat. Fever...I have no idea. Maybe the kid's dying. We did everything we could. Start making arrangements.
I am currently coughing and sneezing a lot, both of which are crazy painful. My nose is raw from blowing it so often, but isn't stuffed enough to prevent me from breathing. My throat started out sore, but now only hurts from coughing. Oh, and I'm wicked headachey.
I keep telling the Foliage he's going to be sick. First he wouldn't listen. He's always so sure he's immune to stuff and then he gets knocked down by disease. He was a really good nurse this past weekend, but if he gets sick while he's in Maryland, I won't be able to reciprocate. Truthfully, I love when he gets sick.
Now I need to go watch trashy TV and drink orange juice while I chant "I am not sick, I am not sick" to myself.