Twelve days ago, the flu hit our house like a freight train. It started with Jacob— he tends to be the epicenter of unwanted household maladies. He complained of a really bad headache and then lost his lunch all over the couch. You always know when Jake isn’t feeling well because he is calm and flexible and doesn’t resist a nap. The poor child practically subsisted on air and Gatorade for a week straight. Then last Saturday, Nate came down with a 103 degree fever. I didn’t realize it and took him to the mall— he was totally himself until about lunch time when he told me he couldn’t walk anymore. Poor baby.
Jacob wouldn’t take any medicine— he adamantly affirmed that it “Tasted yucky.” In fact, his taste buds made everything taste yucky including 7Up, Squirt, ice cream, pudding. This year’s flue is some new tongue attack strain… how Pokémonesque.
Then this past Thursday, James went down for the count. All three boys spent several days sleeping and then opening their blank eyes and then going back to sleep. They all looked white as sheets… Nate has never looked so skinny. Fortunately I’ve had a stockpile of employer-provided preventative flu medicine and so I broke into it the day James began feeling questionable. I’ve also been sleeping on the couch for four days in my college sleeping bag with an exact copy of the travel alarm clock I had in Spain— it’s been like a Moroccan hostel.
Jake recovered fastest and Nate seemed like he was better, but his fever came back. Seems to have been better today, though all three took a three hour nap again after we went to see Zootopia (highly recommend). Lunch was the first meal Nate has had in days. Every day he’s repeated the same mantra as Jacob, though slightly different,
“My taste bugs are still yucky. They’we woo-ind.”