Stuck in the Infirmary

It's just after 8pm on Friday night and all my guys are out cold. The boys are sleeping, and G. has the flu. He's been completely out of commission since Wednesday night.

"Can you refill the Brita? I don't even have the strength to lift it," he moaned. I took his temperature and found it to be a burning 99.3, so he went off to bed. "Good thing men don't get pregnant," I muttered.

It was quite a switch from A., who last week was sick and steadfastly refused to admit it. After I finally got some medicine down his throat, if he coughed at all, he'd glare at me accusingly and say, "My cough is still there! So you and your fancy cherry-crap flavored syrup can go to hell!" He clearly said the first part; the last part was implied.

Later G. clocked in at 101.3. But then we discovered our fancy temporal thermometer is off and his temperature was actually over 103 as determined by the old-fashioned mercury. Hmph. Guess you really are sick. Stay away from me, and for God's sake, don't get the baby sick.

In other news:

Did I mention I'm turning 40 in a few weeks? It seems like a big deal, if only as a marker of the last 10 years. When I turned 30, I was single, in grad school with no idea if I would ever finish, and living in a small studio. Around that time, I wrote out this little piece of paper that I carried around on which I had written all my biggest goals:

1. Finish the Ph.D.
2. Be in a happy marriage or relationship.
3. Have children (was going to do this with or without #2).
4. Have a house with a garden.
5. Have an organized, clutter-free life.
6. Be able to run 5 miles.

Four months after turning 30, I met G. Four years after that, I married him, and here I am living in a house with a garden (that I don't touch because Goal #2 has control issues) and our two little boys. I had my Ph.D. orals the week I found out I was pregnant with A., so that got finished too. I ran a 5-mile race in 2001 and have been largely pregnant (literally) or nursing since then. I do work on the organization and have gotten much better, although "organized" is probably not an adjective often used to describe me.

So what's left? I still need to learn to drive a stick shift. And see the Alps. But the major things: check, check, and check.

And yet there's more:

A. has begun playing more complex games. They're great because he tells us exactly what to do, even it if results in a strategic paradox. He loves to hide in the closet and yell, "I'm in the coats! You can't find me anywhere!"

He also tells us exactly how to react: "I'm a robot! You can't believe it!"

So much of parenting is by the seat of the pants. It's nice when they give you clear instructions.