The Wicked Flu Witch Is Coming to Oz

This morning when I dropped the little angel off at Oz, I heard what I have been dreading all fall: "We seem to have a flu bug going around."

I., the little angel's morning teacher, was worried. She didn't want to get sick. She didn't want her babies to get sick. But two babies and a teacher were out for the count from Infant II. We are supposed to go out of town this weekend to see my husband's family and cheer on the Iowa Hawkeyes. My beloved will CRY if we can't go. I'm trying to think positive thoughts.

I called my mother on the way to work so that she could talk me off the ledge. She explained the fever-busting power of children's Tylenol and the way pediatricians do tend to call you back if your baby is sick. I had forgotten all these details in my panic. Then she said the best thing, the thing that I had secretly been hoping for: "If she gets REALLY sick, I can always come down to coach you through it."

It's times like these that I really, really wish my parents lived in Kansas City. I jealously listen to those lucky souls whose mothers are only a short car ride away and can be counted on for in-person parenting advice. I see the benefit of having them 2.5 hours away, as well (it is nice to have one's own life, after all), but the first baby can reduce an otherwise bring-home-the-bacon-fry-it-up-in-a-pan modern woman to a sniveling mess when the little angel spikes a fever. The mere thought of that happening really makes me want my mommy.