Tis The Season...

The first virus of the season is packing up his things before leaving our house and moving on to the next unsuspecting family. I won't say he's been a good house guest, but compared to some of his colleagues, I guess he wasn't the worst. Don't get me wrong, I didn't appreciate his gifts of fever, diarrhea, vomiting, and earth-spinning nausea, but at least none of those gifts landed any member of my family in the hospital, like some of his peers have done.

As he zips up his suitcase, I sit with the odd realization that I've garnered a sense of respect for this particular virus, because he took it easy on the ladies and the children. Nora had to deal with some light 'symptoms' and Ben did line his bed with a lovely shade of vomit one night and had several rounds of diarrhea, but he's still been pretty playful. And Ms. Emma showed little regard for our intruder, producing nothing more than an evening's worth of fever.When he showed up, Emma sized up the virus and his threats and said, "I'll give you one night of a fever, but nothing more". And the virus, who must have had previous experience with female toddlers spun from Emma's yarn, did not argue or try to sneak in any of his other 'treats'.

As it turns out, Mr. Virus really felt bonded to Daddy. I spent yesterday and the better part of today lost in a forest of puke trees and diarrhea streams; I oscillated between clinging to the cool of our bathroom floor like a barnacle on a rock, and laying in bed, as still as possible, out of the fear that any movement might shift the contents of my GI tract, further stirring the pot of my misery. At 11:13pm last night I sat with my behind planted on the toilet, while holding a giant green bowl in my hands. Meanwhile, the kids rested peacefully and Nora respected the fact that I needed to go it alone in my dual-orifice purging adventure. As my world spun, and the color disappeared from my face, a respect for the virus grew deep in my unsettled abdomen. I thanked him for choosing me to be the main beneficiary of his visit. As a dad and husband, it's definitely easier to be the one suffering.

Looking back on the last couple of days, I'm left with a couple of reflections. First of all, 'sick season' is officially here, ending--more so than cold weather, the fall equinox, or even our ridiculous rain--the lovely season of summer. Summer is such a magical time with kids; the entire outdoors becomes a play area, the sun shines regularly, filling us all with appropriate levels of vitamin D, the days are full of light, there's plenty of fresh fruit and frozen treats, and the viruses go into relative hibernation. It seems that in the summer of 2010, I took for granted the virus hibernation, which seems crazy since one-year old Emma was ravaged by a string of viruses/asthma that made her sick for a month straight, and landed her in the hospital with dangerously low oxygen levels. Yet, a few weeks ago, when I began grieving the onset of fall, and the dark winter to come, the viruses and infections weren't at the top of my list of concerns. Our weekend house guest-virus reminded me just how long, dark, and dreary winter can really be.

My second reflection is the silver lining on this dark cloud of a blog post: sick toddlers are different than sick babies. During winters 1 and 2, when Bemma were 6-12mos and then 18-24mos, the onset of a virus or infection would take our relatively placid babies, fill them with red bull and gasoline, and then light a match. The result would be an explosion of anger, irritability, bodily fluids, and screaming that could not be soothed. Based on those experiences, I was horrified to see what effect a virus would have on my fiery, independent, strong-willed toddlers...especially Emma.

I was ecstatic to discover that this virus turned our restless, chatty, independent, strong-willed, fiery toddlers into a subdued, relaxed version of themselves. Emma even seemed slightly amused, a sweet smile on her face as she reclined, one foot crossed over the other, and 'chilled' with her fever; there have been few times I've seen her be sweeter.  Ben did become more whiny than usual, but he also slept through the night, even after vomiting in his bed. Don't get me wrong. I wish the poor guy would've given us at least a little whimper so we could change his PJs and his bedding, but that kind of stoicism seems to be more common in sick toddler Bemma, as opposed to the explosive panic sick baby Bemma exuded.

I guess it's all a part of them being bigger, stronger, more aware of their world and the things going on. Whereas last winter there was little or nothing to comfort sick Bemma, watching 'Curious George' or 'Barney' now seems to do the trick.  Plus they can talk to us about what's going on, which really is game-changer, because guessing which internal organ is causing your baby's discomfort is a nightmare. I can't count the number of times we looked at baby Bemma asking, "Does your head/ear/throat/tummy/ hurt?!" And of course they would just stare back and...CRY!

Now that our house guest has done his damage and has one foot out the door, I really hope he tells all his buddies that our house was lame. But I get the sense that those virus characters aren't too picky. They'll crash just about anywhere. So, on that note, I will officially say goodbye to summer--oh how I'll miss you!!--and then promptly make an appointment for us all to get our flu shots.

By the way, I'm totally aware that this post is a downer, but what can I do. This is my life. My life with Bemma.