The Adventures Of A Germaphobe With An Infant Son
It's a revolving door of germs and disease at the Perry household.
Health and fitness are two things very near and dear to my heart.
I work out five times a week, try to get at least 30 minutes of sunlight a day, sleep seven hours a night, and (mostly) eat well.
I take great pride in my health and, for large swathes of my adulthood, I did a pretty damn good job of almost never getting sick, due in large part to my Howie Mandell levels of being a germaphobe.
But alas, a nifty bout of tonsillitis has ripped its way through my household (once again), and I am the latest recipient of this gift that keeps on giving.
Let me preface all of this by saying I love my son more than anything else in the world, but that kid is a walking petri dish of germs and sickness, and it has been an adventure that, as a germaphobe, I have navigated rather poorly.
My little bundle of joy is about a year and a half old, and he has been patient zero for some pretty nasty illnesses these past several months.
It's the same old song and dance every time: the kid comes home from daycare with a snotty nose and a low-grade fever, and next thing you know, the entire household is hacking up a lung.
He's learning about washing his hands at daycare, which, of course, will lull me into a false sense of security, only for the next mutated disease to enter our front door.
He's brought home the flu, tonsillitis, hand-foot-and-mouth, numerous ear infections, and near-constant common colds.
I swear, they manufacture biological weapons-grade viruses at this kid's daycare!
I used to be able to stave off sickness just by staying away from sick people, but now, much like a classic horror movie, "the calls are coming from inside the house."
I can't escape this!
Imagine having arachnophobia only for your home to be infested with different kinds of spiders.
I am on the mend from my current bout of sickness, but recovery feels like a Sisyphean effort, for in another week or two, we will be greeted with yet another strain of daycare viruses.
The rock continues to tumble back down the hill, and we start over again.
Emergen-C can't save me. Sunlight and exercise cannot save me. This is my destiny.
Send up a prayer for this germaphobe with an infant son, because divine intervention might be my last hope.