I bet kids are on a Virus Testing secret service mission of some sort. When I am up at 3am checking baby’s temperature for the five hundredth time, my mind often wanders to possible conversations in Babyverse:
“This batch here is a total wimp. Maybe a mild cough and snotty mornings. Worth max one sleepless parenting night. This other one, found hidden in my nails, though, is a knock-out, dude. At least a week worth of high temperatures and work from home parenting.”
Regular parenting is no cake walk – there is the feeding and the sleep training. There is potty business and throw up party. But that Nurse Station duty is a straight out killer. It is like the last level in the super-gore video game where all the villains unite forces.
I am not a germaphobe by any stretch of imagination. I feel like I have a live-and-let-live pact with most mildly harmful germs. I am that parent that advises moderate exposure to dirt ‘to strengthen baby’s immunity’. I have mastered the skill of wiping the snot before it is out for public viewing. But, every once in a while, that super batch comes visiting to knock the air out of my smug being.
After three straight sleepless nights, with immediate remediation not in sight, I am at the brink of full stretch OCD approach. I am considering creating a sterile field at home and forbidding entry without a strip search and antibiotic scrub. I am also contemplating home schooling and then a lifetime of counselling to counter the social awkwardness.
While Baby T recovers her health and I, my sanity, do stay safe and germ free!