Remember the days of warm soup, feather comforters and movies to help cope with a cold? Well, Alanna discovers there is little room for self-pampering with two kids in the mix…

When I get sick, I want no one touching me.

No one.

I like to hide under the covers of my bed, fresh sheets, lights off, and Pride and Prejudice playing on the DVD machine in the background. I don’t need to watch it. I know what happens. I just like hearing Mr. Darcy brooding while I contemplate… absolutely nothing.

Of course, this was all before children.

I’m not allowed to get sick anymore.

Actually, I can get sick (and I do) but I can’t luxuriate in it like I used to.

Getting sick now is usually a byproduct of my children getting sick. And unlike me, they want to be touched. The second that stuffy nose starts to clog its cling time. Whether they are throwing up, dripping snot or leaking any other sort of bodily fluid, they are sharing it.

With me.

Ew.

A hint of cough, a scratchy throat, a gob of mucus… next thing I know I am in a death grip on the couch, with one clammy kid on my lap, and sweaty head in my face. The only thing I can do is strain my neck looking for a fresh air pocket to breathe in and hope they fall asleep sound enough so I can roll out from under them.

Worse is the double trouble attack. That’s when I have two sick kids up in comfort zone and can find myself trapped for hours.

The last time that happened, the TV controller was just out of reach… and Twilight came on.

I don’t wish that on anybody…

Vampire baseball… seriously?

– Alanna, Nuttermother