I wonder how many more nights I can sleep face to face with a sick child before I too am afflicted with the same nasty virus that’s coursing through his 50lb body?

I wonder how many more Pedialyte freezer pop stains I can mop up before I get stuck to the living room floor like a giant mouse on one of those inhumane sticky strips with the only avenue of escape being that I chew off my own feet.  Just to make you aware, a starving sewer rat wouldn’t touch my feet- so I’m less than thrilled about having to chew on them myself.

I wonder how many more cough drops I’ll find half eaten and ground into our carpet or how many times I’ll hurl myself across the counter to stop my kids from sharing cups of water.

I wonder if hand sanitizer is addictive- if so I’m a friggin junkie- I caught myself huffing on it like a Hobo with a cheap can of rustoleum.

I’ve got 83 used tissues in my front pocket, a thermometer in my back pocket and a half eaten Muscinex tablet held firmly between my cheek and gum.

Our kitchen counter looks like a country drug store- expectorant, decongestant, suppressant and some anti-biotics to add a dash of flavor.  If I had one of those cheap cocktail umbrellas I’d mix them all together and pretend I was in the Caribbean- but I’m not- and I won’t- they’re for my son- the sick one.

I guess the answer to most of these questions is as many as it takes.  I can’t handle the kids being sick.  I don’t like the thought of them waking up in the middle of the night feeling miserable and alone- so I’ll curl up with Cayden one more night.  It’s worth it- nothing defines parenting more than wiping a butt, cleaning your kids face with your own saliva or caring for them when they’re sick.

Besides in a few decades when I’m pooping my pants and can’t remember where I left my upper bridge I want a place to stay- so I guess it’s not completely altruistic…