Just call me Caretaker.
I was on the couch for a full week with a boy with a fever. That week has stretched into two of lots and lotsa nursing, even though the son is physically pretty much recovered.
But now the husband has a pesky ruptured eardrum that is taking its own sweet time to leave him alone. Of course we both want him to avoid antibiotics, which my son's doctor says is likely only to shorten the duration of the infection by a day or so. But it's been over 48 hours that my guy has had a tissue attached to his head.
And I had to take the boy to Spanish class this morning! That's supposed to be their thing, daddy and son, just for eight short weeks (and we already missed last week because of the little guy's illness). It was a fine outing, but I'm getting a tired of being in charge all the time without a break. Good thing the munchkin took a long nap this afternoon. Maybe it was the elderberry drops, but I think the quiet three hours with no one putting his hand up my shirt and asking me for anything actually made me feel less likely to get sick myself. It could still happen, sure, but I doubt I'll get anyone offering to nurse me back to health, metaphorically or not.
Actually, tonight my husband actually hugged me, which was supposed to feel nice, except that I'd just spent 45 minutes trying to get our son to bed, which was a very touchy affair. And then, an hour later, after both boys were supposed to be in bed, the tall one was panting so loudly in pain I could hear him downstairs. I brought him The Last Tylenol and some Rescue Remedy and arnica. I hope that will last him until after I've come to bed and fallen asleep, by which time the little redheaded boy will probably want to have a sip o' mama. At least now that I've been to the Vitamin Shoppe and bought my husband some ear drops, maybe he won't ask me to try to heal him with my milk anymore. It's great to feel like Super-magic-healer-woman except that it involves squeezing yourself.