Tales of Woe and Ben Gay

Things are falling apart rapidly. SOB hurt his back in a major fashion that requires him to wear some kind of medicinal heating patch which makes him smell like my grandfather, only older. I am sick with some sort of regular old bug, but the female fetus (or F squared as we're calling her around here) (or the fucking female fetus, F cubed, lately) is making life a bit more difficult. When ever I start to have a phlegm hacking episode, which is common during the common cold, it is frequently followed by a vomiting episode. This is new to me, and requires a whole new set of strategies. If I even feel a hint of a cough coming on, I have to stop whatever I am doing, make sure Sam is safe, and get as close to a bathroom (or kitchen sink in moments of desperation) as possible. I had a coughing fit this morning as I was changing Sam's diaper and had to put him on the floor naked as the day he was born. Naturally the kid saw this as his golden opportunity to pee all over his carpet (pun intended).

Luckily, Sam seems to have avoided my maladies so far. I've been pumping him full of juice with vitamin C, because I don't think you're supposed to give kids that Airborne stuff, right? Also, I spent half the morning with my fingers crossed, my ankles crossed left over right, clutching a rabbit's foot in between my toes and hopping on one foot while praying to several deities at once that he doesn't contract my sickness. I can handle myself, but I might not be up to the challenge if both of us are oozing fluids from our head holes.

I use too many parenthesis.