Fever

Play therapy would be the most apt name for what has been going on in our house the past few weeks. After P fell ill to a fever a few weeks ago, he caught another one in Kansas and had to travel back to NY with it. That time it was 106 for five days and he was miserable. When he finally felt like moving around his monsters were allll sick. He lined them all up on the couch and took each of their temperatures. Then he told them they all needed vitamins. He popped pills and pushed the thermometer around in infinite variations of this plot for Days. One evening over dinner we overheard him telling Baby Brother that BB had yet Another fever. Then he explained to BB that he needed to take some "low glycemic and vitamins." Heehee. E recently found out he has hypoglycemia, so there has been a Lot of chatter about food choices for Papa (initially ending in worried "he gonna Die if he eats that?" questions). Apparently, the little man has been listening to us blabber even more than we realized...

Another result of the recent viruses: a new germaphobe has been born. P became anxious if his hands touched Anything. He'd been heading that direction for a few months, but with the onset of the first fever he went into fist-clenched overdrive. It was pretty comical to watch him try to clamber atop the couch just using his elbows. It was not comical that this was his new reason to Not leave the house. No, Mama, there are Germs out there. A year ago we stood at the opposite end of this mental teeter totter and, in retrospect, I have to say I much preferred it:) He would return from the sandpit with Filthy hands and then happily shove dinner into his mouth with said dirt-magnets. E and I continued to wash our hands, buy new soaps and offer assistance amidst P's distinct disdain for cleanliness. After he fell ill a few times we reminded him his chances might improve if he washed when he returned home. Then this spring we were sick over and over again. We being plural here. I informed P that I was fairly tired of being ill, playing while sick (he was always better by the time I came down with the stuff and ready to play again just as my fever spiked) was not very enjoyable for me. What? Mama not play? I didn't mean it as a threat, just an expression of my needs, but however he took it, he took it Seriously. If I get mama sick and she won't play.... d'oh! I'm gonna wash my hands.

And so it began. Regular requests for antibac. Frequent questions about various object's levels of cleanliness. "Can I touch it? Can I put my hands in my mouth then?" After the recent fevers it got down right crazy. "Mama! My hands touched my shirt!" Or my personal favorite, asked after the cat walked Past Phoenix, a good 12 inches away, "Mama! Did you see my hands accidentally touch Danda's tooshie? Did I get her germs? I wanna wash my hands..."

And so it has gone. For Days now. Our repeated explanations that our house is Clean, everything in it, sweatpants, tabletop, couch surface and all, is clean, did nothing. We mopped. We washed toilets daily. We are Clean. But its become an Anxiety of sorts and reason hasn't been helping. We've had fabulous chats about germs and how important they are. That little bits of germs make us stronger, our body builds keys to keep large loads out from the little bits that we pick up (from couches sweatpants and tabletops...) Nevertheless, our hands are flaky from all of the sudsing and my mouth is tired from all of the reassurances. In addition to seeing Ethan's stoic side come forth in the child I'm now seeing his tendency to go to the extremes too...

So yesterday the circus came to town (a whole 'nuther post in itself:) We were psyched to go. Then, at the last minute P wanted to bail. What if he caught, queue the ominous music, a Germ. I smiled and said that living in fear of a little virus, or even a really big virus like the last one he caught, didn't seem like a life of Joy to me. That I would rather lick the sidewalk than stay in our germfree bubble. And so that's what we did. He walked me downstairs and watched with amazement while I licked a New York City sidewalk. I could think of nothing more disgusting. When I peaked up from smooching the concrete P was grinning. Hugely, grinning. And then he bent down and licked it too. This, I had to look away from :) But when he looked back up we did a little happy dance to be alive and well and headed off to the circus... me praying that we didn't just contract the worst imaginable and him happy to be a carefree kid again.