A bug is making the rounds in my house, and suddenly, I'm surrounded by
toddlers again. My younger son, three and a half, is a good boy when
he's sick. He lies in bed and sleeps all day, though he insists on being
cuddled by mommy or daddy. He did, however, apparently forget how to
talk and has regressed to a one and a half year old. Whimpers are the
medium of communication, supplemented, of course, by mommy and daddy's
amazing telepathic skills. Occasionally, the mind reading fails, but
he's easily assuaged by a kiss, hug, and cuddle.
My older son, six, regressed to three years old. He whined and
complained more in five minutes than my younger son did in twenty four
hours. I need to get the older boy married off early so that some other
unfortunate girl can take care of him.
My husband, my dear husband, regressed too, but since he's a great deal
older than the boys, he only regressed to a teenager. This one I'm stuck
with. I can't marry him off because he's mine. He is a sweetheart,
though. Now that the boys are on the mend and I am sick (I'm always the
last to catch whatever is going around the house), my husband is making
lemon ginger honey teas for me to soothe my throat.
