Sick, With a Side of Sick.

Hi! Noah here.

SO.  I heard you heard I was sick.

It was a dark time in my life.

I was so ill that there was very little that I wanted in the universe. You would think that would make me considered low-maintenance, right?

But no – The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy picked that very week to go ahead and assume that I wanted all sorts of extra-curricular activities and treats!  It was exhausting.

That’s right – the one time I don’t desire it with all my heart and you’re going to hold me down and force me to take medicine?

No thanks.

And the doctor’s office. When I can’t even taste the goodness of the suckers, you’re going to drag me in, over and over?

And I don’t want to even talk about that emergency room visit. Why do they make the furniture so colorful if I’m not allowed to at least try it?

I just think I should get a little compassion around here.

Just because I want to ask, “Can I have more of that (insert food here) that I’m going to refuse to eat?” 56 times a day, you want to get frustrated?

(How about now? That looks tasty!)

(How about now?)

But the greatest irony of when I don’t feel good is that you’re going to pick THAT moment to shove a metal rod up my butt. It’s confounding!

But it’s okay – you know how you unthinkingly stick things in your mouth when I give you too much to carry?  Yeah, I totally saw you do that.

But I’m writing to you, internet – not The Servant.  And you’re here to get the inside story.  The Scoop.  The Te’o Truth of the whole thing.  Right?

Well here it is:  I heard it was going to be Ali’s birthday.  And from my understanding, birthdays were kinda…you know, my thing.

So I licked a grocery cart.

It worked, because I got taken to the doctor on her birthday, thereby proving my dominance and ultimate role of Most Important Child.

But while we were waiting, I heard The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy tell Ali: “It’s okay, because your party isn’t until Saturday.”

And I panicked.

But we’re at the doctor now! I’m going to get well too quickly!

So I licked the exam table, the foot props, the floor, the door handle, and the chair arms.

The taste of 53 different kid’s germs wasn’t a gentle one on my sensitive palette,

But it worked.

The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy never even saw my saliva touch anything (I’m well-adapted to Covert Licking Warfare, or CLW as we refer to it in the United Toddler’s Union,) and so I added RSV to my Croup that day.

Now I’m not saying that was fun for me, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, you know?

And the payoff was that The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy was so consumed by ME (as she should be) that she took five pictures of Ali’s birthday party.

Five!!  I am an evil genius.

She takes more pictures than that of my weekly toe jam harvest!

And she left the party early to take me back to the doctor, for what had to have been the 736th time of the week.

It was a precious time that we spent together.

But I don’t want you to think I wasn’t miserable.

Oh, I was.

In fact, the only times I could truly relax that entire week was when The Servant Who Calls Herself Mommy would give me a bath.  And since I spewed every dose of medicine that she [tried to] give me, they happened more often than usual.

It was so warm…so comforting…so tranquilizing…that it might have had some undesired effects.

Oopsie Poopsie.

I realized by The Last Sick Bath that The Servant didn’t appreciate my habit of leaving fecal matter in her tub, so I warned her that it was coming.

But then! She seemed even less appreciative of the fact that I flung poop across the room with my hinder as she whipped me from bath to toilet.

Some people just can’t be pleased.

But I recovered to my fullness of self just in time for all of Ali’s birthday celebrations to be over.

Just the way I like it.

So next time you have a sister that’s about to steal your spotlight, just call me –

I can Hook. You. Up.