A long time ago, back when I had more hair and my wife’s uterus was still in mint condition, we used to hang out with our close friends Chris and Abby. They were our partners in crime, always down for a good time. We made memories that would last a lifetime - concerts, holiday parties, happy hours. Life was a non-stop party!
Then, something unspeakable happened. Chris and Abby had kids. And just like that, we never saw them again.
Seriously. They vanished into the abyss of parenthood.
Gone were the fun times, the belly laughs, and the wild nights out. My dear friends were now chained to their home, held captive by tiny mucus monsters—children who seemed to catch every illness known to humankind from daycare. Back then, I was blissfully child-free and completely baffled by their constant state of sickness. Every time I talked to them, they were battling some new plague. Our days of Jägermeister shots had tragically devolved into shots of DayQuil and Robitussin.
I used to sarcastically nag them, saying, “Why don’t you start treating yourselves better? Take some vitamin C and eat healthier. I’m sick of you being sick all the time—your illness is cramping my social life!”
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Fast forward six years, and here I am, bundled up in a blanket, slathered in Vaporub, with two kids upstairs hacking away like tiny smokers. My nightcap? Tylenol PM.
Chris and Abby, if you’re reading this, I owe you a massive apology. I get it now. I have two of my own little germ factories who have introduced every bizarre ailment, virus, and unidentifiable rash into our home. Over the past few years, we’ve been blessed with Croup, Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease, Tonsillitis, eye cysts, inflamed eczema, and the occasional common cold thrown in for good measure.
I’ve seen the inside of a doctor’s office more times this year than I had in the entire 37 years of my life. It’s like we’re stuck in an endless cycle of sickness. One kid gets sick, then the sibling catches it, and before you know it, Mom and Dad are down for the count too. Shingles? Isn’t that something you put on a roof? Never did I imagine I’d spend so much of my life wiping fluids from other people’s faces - and rear ends. I’m convinced we’re single-handedly keeping the Lysol industry afloat. Every surface in our house is coated in disinfectant. I’ve got drawers full of medicines and creams with names I can’t even pronounce. Our hall closet is a shrine to Vicks, vaporizers, Kleenex, and cans of chicken soup, all standing at the ready for flu season.
So here’s to you, Chris and Abby - though we rarely see each other anymore, I think of you every time I feel a sniffle coming on. To all you new parents out there, best of luck raising your little germ incubators. Wash your sheets, wash your hands, and for the love of all that is holy, wash your children, because kids are downright GROSS!
Photography credit: Jeremy Padgett
