The whole family got it. Luckily, it seems I got the worst of it, while Ian and husband got milder forms. I was so ill on Sunday night all I could do was pray that Ian wouldn’t wake up because I had no idea how I would pick him up, nevermind having to actually care for him.

My teeth felt like they were going to explode out of my head. I was convinced I had strep throat. And the only way to stop my nose from running was to shove two pieces of Kleenex up my nostrils (sexxxayyy). I was in too much pain to sleep, so I watched some weird British mini-series on Netflix.  I felt horrible when I considered that Ian could have been feeling this bad, and had no way to communicate this other than to cry (stupid mama thought he was teething until Saturday).

Silver linings. The severe symptoms passed after twelve hours. Husband stayed semi-healthy and has taken the babe for the last two mornings so I can chill. Most miraculous was my friend and most-rockingest-birth-and-postpartum-doula-ever, Debbie, came to play with Ian so I could rest. I have no words. Ian clearly loves and trusts her. She took him for two walks, fed him twice, changed his diaper, played and played and played and then cleaned up his toys while he was napping. I could cry. I only wish I could mother half as good as Debbie doulas. She’s magic, and you should hire her.