For the first time in the Willow-Cherish-Brian household, somebody caught a cold.
And it wasn't the little one.
I first noticed the cold overcoming me on Monday. That's when I knew it was a real cold. I had problems sniffling and sneezing Saturday and Sunday nights, but I attributed those to allergies, which all allergy sufferers do, even if they have bronchitis ("Bronchitis? Nah, it's just allergies ... HACKHACKHACKHACK!!!").
As with most colds (for me anyway), once I noticed it was coming, it really bull-rushed me, pummeling over me and knocking me to the floor, where I seemingly stayed plastered for the better part of two days.
The cold, really, was quite minor. It's Wednesday afternoon, and I'm practically recovered, just enduring an odd cough here and there.
And as far as I can tell, Willow hasn't caught the cold. At least she's showing no symptoms yet. Neither is Cherish. So here's hoping that cold has exited the household for good.
But let me tell you something.
As Willow is getting more and more mobile, and as it's getting harder and harder for me to keep pace with her, this cold, as minor as it was, had me floored.
Sometimes literally.
Tuesday afternoon, after I had cleaned up after Willow for the 376th time that day, I lay on the floor on my aching, aching back, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath ... or at least trying to find my breath (I swear it left me there for a while).
Willow has her monster moments (such as when she does that thing you don't want her to do over and over and over and over and over again), and she has her angel moments (thank God they outnumber the monster moments).
As I lay on the floor in the living room, fighting to breathe and trying to calm my swimming head, Willow stepped over me and blanketed me with an angel moment.
She lowered to her knees, patted my stomach a few times then rested her cheek on my chest while still patting my stomach.
It's as if she were saying, "There, there, Daddy, everything is going to be OK."
In that moment, I realized the worst had passed. My cold was defeated. The energy the cold had sapped from me was returning, easing back into my tired muscles.
My angel was lifting me.
And here I sit, uplifted, relaying to you the minor miracle that helped fend off my minor cold.
And if that cold should find a way into my little girl's body, I have to find the angel in me to help lift her through the troubling days ahead, just as she helped me, the best that she could.
And it wasn't the little one.
I first noticed the cold overcoming me on Monday. That's when I knew it was a real cold. I had problems sniffling and sneezing Saturday and Sunday nights, but I attributed those to allergies, which all allergy sufferers do, even if they have bronchitis ("Bronchitis? Nah, it's just allergies ... HACKHACKHACKHACK!!!").
As with most colds (for me anyway), once I noticed it was coming, it really bull-rushed me, pummeling over me and knocking me to the floor, where I seemingly stayed plastered for the better part of two days.
The cold, really, was quite minor. It's Wednesday afternoon, and I'm practically recovered, just enduring an odd cough here and there.
And as far as I can tell, Willow hasn't caught the cold. At least she's showing no symptoms yet. Neither is Cherish. So here's hoping that cold has exited the household for good.
But let me tell you something.
As Willow is getting more and more mobile, and as it's getting harder and harder for me to keep pace with her, this cold, as minor as it was, had me floored.
Sometimes literally.
Tuesday afternoon, after I had cleaned up after Willow for the 376th time that day, I lay on the floor on my aching, aching back, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath ... or at least trying to find my breath (I swear it left me there for a while).
Willow has her monster moments (such as when she does that thing you don't want her to do over and over and over and over and over again), and she has her angel moments (thank God they outnumber the monster moments).
As I lay on the floor in the living room, fighting to breathe and trying to calm my swimming head, Willow stepped over me and blanketed me with an angel moment.
She lowered to her knees, patted my stomach a few times then rested her cheek on my chest while still patting my stomach.
It's as if she were saying, "There, there, Daddy, everything is going to be OK."
In that moment, I realized the worst had passed. My cold was defeated. The energy the cold had sapped from me was returning, easing back into my tired muscles.
My angel was lifting me.
And here I sit, uplifted, relaying to you the minor miracle that helped fend off my minor cold.
And if that cold should find a way into my little girl's body, I have to find the angel in me to help lift her through the troubling days ahead, just as she helped me, the best that she could.
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