Angel of Death

AKA…the sickness we can’t kick!

The plague took down Seth on Tuesday and guys, I got him to go to the DOCTOR. As in, someone who examines you and makes you feel all better! Seth is wary of doctors and kicks and screams like a little girl when I try to make him go. Don’t even get me started on dentists. But he was feeling THAT BAD. After running a 103 fever and apologizing for not feeling sorry for me while I was sick this past weekend (thank you very much) he left the doctor’s office with a “we thought it was strep but your strep test was negative so now we’ll just test some other things” diagnosis. Otherwise known as NO PRESCRIPTION.

Death.

Now he is all better but it’s my turn again and I’m coughing up a storm. I almost moved bedrooms last night because I knew Seth wasn’t getting sleep. It’s the kind of cough where you can’t stop. Or if I breath in extra deep, it causes me to hack all over the place. Sometimes I can’t even finish my sentence without a coughing fit. I think I might know what it feels like to be a smoker now. Jake is coughing too. His eye gunk has returned.

Are.you.kidding.me?

Seth & I took turns examining each other’s throats last night to no avail. Clearly, we didn’t pass the “say aaahhh” part of medical school. He’s got some funny bumps…I couldn’t say “ah” long enough without coughing in his face.

Am I painting a picture of pathetic-ism? Pathetic-ness?

Because that was my point.

Here’s hoping the throat lozenges release their magical powers on me and we can have a cough-free, fever-free, whiny-free weekend.

Actually, I don’t know if we’ll ever have a whiny-free weekend. But a girl can hope!

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