<p>I can’t get sick.</p>

<p>I’ve spent the last few days telling myself that because, well, I can’t.&#0160; The Husband will be going to NY for a couple of days to pick up my in-laws, who are flying in from Europe to spend a week with us (Operation Spoil The Boy is on).&#0160; I’m hoping for everybody’s sake that he is healthy by then.&#0160; But most importantly, I CANNOT get sick.&#0160; The In-laws, they are a-coming, and there is much spoiling of the baby to be done.&#0160; <br /><em><br />(</em><em>Did I ever mention that my FIL is a semi-retired ambassador?&#0160; Which means that my MIL is a professional hostess?&#0160; That we are going to use the <a href="http://www.belk.com/media/images/products/master/china/lenox/coronet_platinum/plate_and_cup._z1.jpg" target="_blank">&quot;good china&quot;</a> for the first time ever?&#0160; That it’s still packed in bubble wrap...two years after the wedding?&#0160; That they ‘can’t wait’ to taste my cooking?&#0160; That they’ve already asked The Husband why I don’t speak German - pressure much?)</em></p>

<p>I CANNOT GET SICK.&#0160; &#0160; </p>

<p>So in between wondering if The Boy’s cough sounds <a href="http://diary.blogs.com/the_diary_of_a_reluctant_/2006/03/germ_warfare.html" target="_blank">bark-ish</a> (I can’t tell and it’s driving me nuts) while wiping his nose/butt and hoping for The Husband’s sake that his digestion doesn’t fail him in the middle of a conference call (because he’s sick...but not me!) I repeat to myself “you cannot, CAN-NOT, get sick!”&#0160; Even as I feel my sinuses tingling and my throat starts to itch...&#0160; </p>

<p>I don’t want to get sick. What’s the point of getting sick if you can’t sleep in and be completely selfish, watch movies while someone else makes your meals, and you don’t have to worry because who the fuck cares if the budget is a few days late?&#0160; But in <em>this</em> job, it makes a huge difference if I’m not there.&#0160; EVERYBODY cares if I miss a day, especially me.&#0160; Even if I could magically spend the day in bed, I would be wondering if my boy ate his lunch and thinking about his cute cheeks, and thus would not be able to give my 863rd screening of Ferris Buehler’s Day Off the attention it deserves.&#0160; Why even bother?</p>

<p>It’s possible that if I had been more diligent with the Purell maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation.&#0160; But when my son comes at me for a kiss I don&#39;t want to run away, even when you can plainly see the layers of germs and viruses dancing on him.&#0160; And I can’t complain about The Husband, because even though he got to take a sick day (<em>unfair!</em>), he does come home from work as early as possible and forces me to nap.&#0160; Yesterday, he brought me <a href="http://www.blueribbonbbq.com/default.htm" target="_blank">pulled pork</a> almost as good as the stuff I used to eat in Virginia and ate his white rice and banana dinner without one complaint (he’s on the BRAT diet).&#0160; That takes fortitude, people.&#0160; He also, desperately, doesn’t want me to get sick.</p>

<p>As much as I fear being sick next week, I also think that somehow I’ve developed super-resistant skin which viruses simply cannot penetrate and slide off me like eggs off Teflon®.&#0160; It&#39;s one of the perks I received when I accepted this mothering gig.</p>

<p>But sick days, unfortunately, are not part of the package.</p>

<p><em>Ich kann nicht krank werden! </em>Or something like that.</p>
