The Great 'I Told You So'

Somewhere, Dr. C and his nurse are getting a great big laugh at my expense.

They warned me. They tried to guilt me. But in the end, I simply gave a non-committal "I'll talk to my husband, do some more research and let you know when we come back in October for Elliot." It sounded (and seemed) responsible.

Now it might be too late for the flu shot.

Lane come home Friday night with a sore throat. Saturday morning, it had progressed and by afternoon he was bed-ridden.

Now I'm getting sick and feeling the crummies and Jane's starting to act the same.

Of course, a man being sick and a woman being sick are two entirely separate experiences. (Have you seen "The Man Cold" on YouTube? You should.)

Granted, Lane is the worst of us all. But he is a man. His being sick means rest and medication. My being sick means I get to feel like crap while I continue doing what I do every day (To give credit where due, if Lane felt better, I would get to take naps. And I've told him to beat it numerous times in an effort to keep this away from the children.) and none of the blessed NyQuil, as I am a nursing mother.

I'm praying this is a bad cold (it is shaping up to appear so). I am praying my milk is warding off any disease so that Elliot does not get this. Then I will run to Dr. C's office and pay whatever amount to get the three of us (Elliot excluded) vaccinated.