auntbijou | Blaaaaaaaaaahhh....

We have all been sick for nearly the last two weeks. It's a nasty virus, it is, and it mostly means a very congested chest, a very nasty cough, and extreme lassitude. Of course, it has also had little individual quirks that it has customized for each of us. For the Impossible Son, who was the first to get it, it meant throwing up for 24 hours straight. Yay.

For the Impertinent Daughter, who got it next, it meant extreme sinus congestion, and headaches. That kid produced enough snot to supply the next Ghostbusters movie, I swear!

For me, it caused laryngitis, and a horrendous cough that sometimes brought me to my knees.

And for the Husbandly One, it meant... pink eye.

You know, a blue-eyed person with conjunctivitis just looks... wrong. Of course, I've teased him that he's very patriotic, being all red, white, and blue. For some reason, he wasn't amused! I said, "Too bad I'm not still producing breast milk."

He got dreamy-eyed and said, "Yeah."

I hit him, and said, "For your EYES, you perv!"

Yeah, breastmilk is a documented cure for pink-eye. Clears it up in about 48 hours. (Why am I getting sudden visions of emiime doing the squick dance right now?)

Anyhow, Mr. Manzie has recovered first, so he's literally bouncing off the walls. Miss Priss is nearly over it, and about to start bouncing off the walls. Me? I'm still curling up in a fetal position on the floor every time I cough, wishing my lungs would just go ahead and get it over with and turn themselves inside out. The doctor just says, "Plenty of rest, plenty of fluids. It's a virus, not much we can do about it." And the Husbandly One is either hacking his lungs up, or demanding I make it all go away, because he's tired of being sick. It seems to run its course in about a week and a half, so hopefully by the weekend, the Husbandly One and I will start feeling more like ourselves, and less like consumptive patients at a tubercular asylum.

When THO demanded, yet again, that I make it go away (yes, I'm dead serious. He really does that), I waved my hands and said impressively, "Evanesco Egrotatio!" (vanish sickness!)

"Wow!" he said, and started coughing. When he was done, and the tears wiped away, he said, "If that doesn't do it, I don't know what will!"

I said, "It might take some time. That virus is pretty damn tough."

"I have all the faith in the world in you," he said, and promptly went to sleep.

I wonder if it would work if I did it to myself?