The cold from hell

This cold will go down in history as the most irritating thing to happen in my house. I swear it's a virus spawned from the devil himself.

Both girls have been a boogery, coughing, slimy mess for two weeks. The pediatrician said, "Lungs are clear. Looks like it's just a bad cold." That was 12 days ago.

That same day I realized they charged my insurance for two upper respiratory infections. It hit me that doctors, or the billing department, play the system as badly as some patients and it kills me. If my child has what you're going to tell my insurance company she's been diagnosed with, then I want an antibiotic for her. I'm not going to argue about what's ethical or not, but if a parent is going to see on the printout from the office staff that a diagnosis is an infection, then use the handy-dandy prescription pad you've been licensed to carry as it was meant to be used! Or, at the very least, use a different billing code.

Instead, we've gone through doses upon doses of pain reliever, cough medicine for my big girl, warm showers, gallons of water in the humidifier, sleepless nights and when all of that seemed to stop helping, I stopped caring if they drank my green tea and had popsicles for breakfast. At least they're getting fluids.



Today the Buddah — which is what I kindly refer to Charlotte because even in the womb she had a beautiful little rotund belly — woke up with that unmistakable barky cough that tells me the cold that was in her head is likely settling in her throat. Could it be croup? Is it the start of bronchitis? Who knows. It's Saturday. I didn't even attempt to get her in to be seen for fear that my concern is premature and we'd be sent home with a diagnosis of, "It's just a little virus."

It seems when I take the girls in for one not-very-specific thing or another, it's always just a "little virus." I wish I knew where this little shit lived so I could come ruin its week like it seems to ruin mine all too frequently. With that diagnosis, I then have a child who is only comforted when rocked to sleep, held all night, has a sippy cup of water with her at all times and leaves me pouring coffee on their scrambled eggs instead of in my mug. Usually, I end up almost in tears calling my mom asking her what I can do to make whatever said virus (it never seems to have a name) pass more quickly. But by telling me it's a virus, I know it needs to run its course and will be over soon enough. Sleep is in sight.

This time I refuse to get uppity over something I so obviously was unable to control. Hand washing has been in full-effect since before the crud found its way in, Clorox and Lysol wipes have been utilized and we've hardly left the house in an effort to keep the worse germs *cough*flu*cough* away. I've made an honest attempt each day that we're stuck in the house to make my kids smile and remind them that, even though they are so very gross, I still adore every inch of them.

Fact: A 2-year-old has more energy when sick with a cold than her healthy 30-year-old mother.

Regardless of my kids being under the weather, their spirits and level of rambunctiousness have been high. Josie and Charlotte have kept me on my toes and at the end of every day I look around my house wondering why I'm so tired when it looks like nothing was done in the last 15 hours. It's a joyful disaster, and though clutter and having too many things out of place at once drives me absolutely insane, I complain about the mess while secretly feeling secure in it. We have children; I want my home to look and sound like we have them.

Even though Josie woke up with a sore throat in the middle of the night and her tonsils looked swollen this afternoon, I hope she's starting to feel a little better. She appeared to be feeling more like herself when, after dinner, she went in the bathroom and closed the door to get ready for a bath by herself, which isn't strange for her to do. All was fine until we heard what I thought was a cough ... only for my husband to open the door and find all 30-pounds of the Bean sitting on the lid of the big potty with just her shirt on and her entire bottom half covered in what had been the remainder of my Avon Moisture Therapy lotion.

"I have to lotion my feets and my leggies!"

Oh, she's so very lucky she's cute. If only her cuteness could kill this darn cold.