It begins innocently enough. On Monday, you notice a little trickle of a runny nose and you wipe it, without giving it a second thought. What kid doesn't have a runny nose? And then, before you know it, a flood of pestilence is unleashed upon your home - soon you are crashing against endless waves of green mucus and trying to keep your head above the waters of assorted bodily fluids. And after a few days braving it alone, your child has a painful night filled with tears that Motrin can't stop and you know it's time to see the doctor.
And off you go. Finally, you get to leave the house after four days, only to hear from the doctor that it's a double ear infection...and a nasty one at that.
So you stop at the pharmacy, crying child in arms, and fill up the prescription for antibiotics. And you start the regimen. And you have a few more nights of late night crying. And you continue to cancel appointments and lunch dates. And you cancel your Saturday night plans, the ones for which you hired a new sitter - yes, you had finally found a sitter - and you stay home and watch the endless Anna Nicole Smith coverage. You become an expert on inheritance law and DNA tests and are horrified by the greed and the sadness of the whole thing and by married Europeans with fake princely titles.
And then, then it is Sunday. And your child wakes up happy. And the gushing nose has slowed down to a trickle again. And he is smiling. And there is hope.
But then it is Monday. Again. And you're the one with the sore throat and the clogged sinuses. And you can't breathe. So it begins, again.