The House that Gross Built...

Things happen in 3's right?  That makes our little clan the perfect target for those phenomenon of crappiness. 

You already know about my toe.  It got even better as the week went on (not) and I found myself yesterday afternoon sitting in the office of a podiatrist, we'll call him Dr. Footsie McSunshine. He pulled the dressing off my toe, made a face and said, "Ugh, what did they do to you in Urgent Care??" (ever so reassuring, let me tell you) and emitted a heavy sigh.   For the first time ever sitting in a doctor's chair, I heard the phrase, "I've got some good news for you and some not so good news."   Ugh.  I knew what he was going to say. "Good news is I can make it better.  Bad news is you're going to have to say goodbye to that nail."  

The nurses were good enough to take Ethan to their station and ply him with lollipops and crayons and coloring books full of Mater and Lightening McQueen, but not before the podiatrist Dr. Footsie McSunshine sprayed that icy numbing stuff all over my foot again and shot my big toe full of enough novocaine to drop a horse.  So that sucked, but at least he didn't light the room (or me) on fire like the clown in urgent care.   When the nurse came in with a surgical kit wrapped in blue linens, aside from having c-section flashbacks, I insisted that Ethan be able to leave the room because I was either going to A.) puke B.) pass out or C.) cry like a little baby, and I didn't need Ethan seeing any of that.  

I will spare you the rest of the details.  Suffice it to say that it was indeed painless until the novocain wore off.  I've got a month of epsom salt soaks in my future and some seriously gross toe transformations ahead.  It ain't pretty.  But I promise I won't show you.  

In the second facet of our trifecta, Ethan has been coughing all week.  Big nasty coughs that a doctor would call "productive", that make him sound like he's a giant walking ball o' sick, but aside from the cough, he's fine.  No fever, no runny nose, no nothing.  And the cough is very intermittent.  So that's good;  but he coughs at the most inopportune times.  Like when I'm on the phone with the director of his new preschool to find out when he can start.  After hear Ethan Phlegmenstein hacking up a lung in the background, she said, as though she were swabbing down her phone with antibacterial wash, "Perhaps you should wait until next week to bring him to school."   Oooookay.    

Or when we went to Starbucks to get breakfast, sat down at a table and he coughed once.  I reminded him to cover his mouth when he coughed, and in true pre-schooler form he then proceeded to fake cough about a half dozen times, covering his mouth to show mommy how well he can follow directions.  The tiny little lady in the comfy chair next to our table was not amused, and shot me a look as though I was responsible for bringing the plague down upon the yuppies in the coffee shop.   In her mind, I am sure if she gets sick any time in the next two weeks, it's because of that snot-nosed little toddler and his irresponsible mother bringing the scourge of the creeping crud into Starbucks that morning.  Sigh. 

And amazingly, though Ethan hasn't coughed in a couple of days and shows no sign of sickies anymore, Husband came home from work last night looking green-ish and shaky.  Enter the flu. Husband rarely gets sick, so when he does, his body goes all out.  There was shivering and sweating and going out for Nyquil and Tylenol (which we then realized he couldn't take together) and staying in bed all day today with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth.  

So there you have it; our first week in our new home.  The beginning of our next adventure.  Maimed foot mama, hacking preschooler and fluish Husband.  What a sad, sorry bunch.