Going Viral

Under the weather and not quite at my cutest 

With the onset of school in my life, one thing was inevitable: shared germs. I have fallen victim to my first "virus," which has rendered me massively congested for more than two weeks now.

In fact, the endless mucous stream coming from my nose, and promptly wiped onto my cheeks, has also served to give me dry patches of skin on my face. I sort of look like I'm trying out for the circus with bright red orbs of clown makeup on my previously kissable cheeks. That's not really funny though.

I generously shared said cold with mommy and abba like a revolving gift that has gone around the household like a peace pipe. Mommy can't take medicine because of the looming presence of my baby brother, so we are suffering together and setting records for tissue usage.

Me during better days at school, although the

red cheek thing was just beginning to form.

This morning my parents took me to the doctor for the third time in two weeks to question him yet again about the possible cause and/or solution for this cold of mine. His prognosis was grim: It is going to be like this on and off until May 2012. In other words, please stop wasting my time coming here with petty issues like a runny nose, especially one with no accompanying fever.

Mommy thinks the overused diagnosis of "virus" is just a medical ploy to not do anything to help. And to top it off, we babies are not allowed the pleasure of decongestants. We are forced to weather these things alone with just our fledgling immune systems to guide us through. Slowly.

Tasting an orange, or being plied with
vitamin C in hopes of getting me better.

Adding to the problem, the doctor added, is the Israeli penchant to send their kids to school sick. So even if mommy and abba keep me home until I am well, I will still be privy to another baby's parental neglect. We were just overjoyed to hear all this great news on a Sunday morning.

But one thing this cold has done for the positive: It has solidified my identity as an Italian baby. Sure, the gnocchi should've been sufficient, but in true Italian nature, and upon the advice of grandparents and generations past, mommy introduced to me three words and two food items have helped to shape who I am: pastina and chamomile tea.

Pastina is a pasta/soup comprised of very tiny stars. Mommy, taking a cue from Mimi, made me some in chicken broth. And the other item, as prompted by GongGong, has been bottles of chamomile tea (or, la camomila) with honey.

I also have found that a key thing, which should eliminate the need for the dreaded aspirator and saline drops for my stuffed sinuses: When my nose is very runny, the best place to wipe it is on mommy's and abba's shirts. The glisten that it adds to their outfits is something they should be thanking me for.

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