The winter cold conspiracy continues. My horrendous cough turned out to be none other that, drum roll please, walking pneumonia. I'm plying myself with antibiotics and steroids to recover quickly because Five's birthday party is this weekend. Must. get. better.
I had to see an on-call doctor because my regular MD is on vacation. The on-call doctor happened to be seriously young and seriously cute with a seriously sweet bedside manner. "You need a flu shot," he demanded. I have never had a flu shot -- I don't like them. I have refused them for years. But Dr. Seriously Everything said I needed one. "You're at high risk because of your pneumonia and asthma," he rattled on, and here I am with a sore arm from the must-have-vaccine.
Five had walking pneumonia when he was three years old and now I have a new perspective on how my little guy must have felt -- particularly with the nausea and stomach pain it brings with it. It's simply awful. But he recovered in about two days. It's talking his mama a tad longer.
But there is always a bright side. Always.
Last night while I was on the couch, Five asked if I would read him a story. "I can't," I whispered. "Mommy's voice isn't working very well and it's hard for me to breath."
"Then Mommy, can I read you a story?"
And so we cuddle up on the couch while he read two books to me. I can't remember what he read, but I do know it was the best medicine I've had this week and wish it could cure all.
