I guess the holidays wouldn’t truly be complete without an illness of some kind.  Oh, well, it’s a decent time to get a cold (I hope that’s all it is!), seeing as how I’m not doing much of anything outside the house anyway. It should make my dentist appointment next week interesting.

I was thinking back on my last cold today, and I realized: I did not get sick at all in 2011. Not even while pregnant, despite riding public trains nearly every week and having half my pre-natal appointments in a clinic that shared a waiting room with a pediatrician’s patients. Never had so much as a cough or a sniffle. I worried about it, though. A lot. Especially fevers. Pregnancy books spend more time talking about the dangers of illnesses on a fetus than the possibility of a miscarriage or stillbirth. Go figure.

Geordie had a cold in April, when I was about three and a half months pregnant. A really nasty cold that eventually turned into a sinus infection. It was only through his diligence and extreme patience that he didn’t give it to me. What a terrible two weeks! Not only was he miserable, but he wouldn’t snuggle with me face-to-face. And I only got kisses on the forehead. I hated it at the time, but it paid off in the end – he never passed that cold on to me. Which only proves what an awesome husband I have!

The last time I was sick was early November 2010. We spent the first three days of the month in Nikko, a beautiful mountain area in east Japan. Geordie was just getting over his cold, and I began to feel the effects of it on our last day. I passed out on the train ride back to Moriya and slept the rest of the day. That cold was entirely Geordie’s fault.

(Not this time around, by the way. I’m pretty sure we caught this one from his mother, or perhaps his cousin, who seems to have spread it around a bit. And yes, he’s sick too.)

Anyway, today should be a Sunday confessional, but I’m planning on spending the day in bed with my Kindle. So it goes.

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