I'll have what he's having

When I was a kid, my mother told me that moms don't get sick. Must be their penance for taking care of snotty, puking, clingy, feverish children, I've thought all these years. I bet your body develops these amazing immunities during pregnancy so you're able to be a picture of health while taking care of others. It's very Florence Nightingale, if you think about it.

Ever since his birthday, our little guy has been in bad shape. What started as a cough - in true Jackson form - morphed into hacking, wheezing, a five-day fever, an ear infection, and RSV. After three doctor's appointments, five different medications, a chest x-ray, and a follow-up with a respiratory specialist next week, he's finally on the mend.

Here's what he looked like at his one-year doctor's appointment. The bright red cheeks and 101-degree fever weren't exactly a picture of health, so he did manage to get out of his shots that day.

With Jackson's latest plague, much like the others, I have wiped the runny noses, rocked him during the coughing fits, and am not the least bit fazed when this little person sneezes all over my face.

I am fearless. I am a mom. I don't get sick.

Until this week. It started on Monday with a little sniffle and a weird ringing in my ears. By Tuesday, my head was pounding. By Wednesday, I had lost my voice. And by Thursday, my boss was asking if I had bronchitis. As I told my sister, who asked how Jackson was, "If he feels half as bad as I do, he's pretty darned miserable."

When I confronted my mother about this complete and utter fabrication of the truth, she paused, smiled and said, "I didn't tell you that moms don't get sick. I said they don't have time to get sick."

She is right about that.