My husband and I reached a parenting milestone this week. We were both taken down in a big way by some nasty bug or another that no doubt came from a crumb cruncher. It’s like a game of Clue to try and figure out which crumb cruncher.
Was it the wee one in the nursery with the teething toy? With everything that he touches, drops on the floor, and puts in his mouth, it wouldn’t surprise me if he picked something up that way despite all my efforts to sanitize. But he really never exhibited any symptoms more severe than the sniffles and a little cough.
Was it the nanny in the kitchen with the warmed bottle? Possibly. She has had a bit of a runny nose and a cough. And then there’s the question of the nanny’s two kids, ages 2 and 7. I know she had to go pick up her 7-year-old from school the other day because he threw up. But I saw him later that day and he seemed perfectly fine, so maybe it was that his breakfast didn’t agree with him, as his mom suspected.
Or was it a neighborhood parent in the living room with a brunch plate? I hadn’t considered this option until my husband pointed out that we had gone to a meet-and-greet brunch last weekend for a neighborhood new parents group. There were a bunch of kids there, although at the time I wasn’t looking at them as pint-size petri dishes.
While Patient Zero remains unknown, the end result is not. I started feeling bad Sunday night, so I decided to go to bed early. I went upstairs, pumped, and as I came back downstairs to put the bottles in the fridge, I had to take an emergency detour to the bathroom. I think the last time I threw up like that was Colgate Spring Party Weekend ’98 after my roommate and I tried to drink 3 bottles for $10 Andre champagne out of a two-story funnel. (True story.)
Monday morning was just painful. I had spent the whole night alternating between my face feeling like it was on fire and my teeth chattering and had a wicked headache. Fortunately, the nanny was on duty, so I pretty much handed the baby off to her like a baton in a relay race and holed myself up in my room with my computer for the day.
Just as I was starting to feel better by the late afternoon, I get a call from my husband. He wasn’t feeling well. By the time he got home, it had gone from bad to worse.
If I thought I was sick then he might as well have been on his death bed. His symptoms were like mine times 10. So bad, in fact, that he woke up this morning and said, “I dreamed I had a disease.”
“Really?” I said. “What disease?”
“TTS,” he said.
“What’s that?” I said.
“Toilet to sink,” he said.
We’re both on the mend, thankfully. But the experience was definitely eye opening. I had no idea baby germs could take down–and with such wrath and fury–two healthy adults. I always sort of thought that the parents who worried about their kids getting sick from daycare or church school or wherever else kids interact were a little on the paranoid side of things. Or, if they were getting sick all the time, a little more immune deficient or susceptible somehow. After all, in the decade plus that my husband and I have known each other, neither one of us has been remotely close to as ill as we’ve been in the past two days. But down we went. For the first time but certainly not the last, I’m sure.