Age of the Superbug

Perhaps it's time I admit it. I am becoming a germophobe.

In just 4 short years, I've made the remarkable transformation from a healthy adult with a solid (if mistaken) belief in Vitamin C supplements and the mantra that colds are for wimps to a neurotic, half-gallon-of-CleanWell-Hand-Sanitizer using, I-think-I'm-getting-a-sore-throat, Web MD obsessed crazy person.


I'm part hypochondriac, part apocalypse soothe-sayer, and part... well... mother.

Of course, it's the mom bit at the root of all my neurosis.

Before motherhood, or more accurately, before mothering a preschooler, I could afford to laugh in the face of minor illness. Before motherhood, I could curl up with a bottle of NyQuil and an Audrey Hepburn movie and sleep uninterrupted until I was healthy. Before motherhood, I was sick only once a season, at the most.

Now here I am with two little germ spreaders and our first of many expected minor illnesses this season.

Along with brightly painted pictures of autumn leaves, Maya brought us all a cold. Unfortunately, in the age of the superbug, each cold puts me on edge.

So I'm watching their colds and mine for any similarities to the H1N1 symptoms (none so far). I'm reading the literature on MRSA staph, the antibiotic resistant strain that my neighbor recently contracted and we should all be concerned about. And I'm scrubbing every frequently-touched surface I pass. Thankfully my favorite cleaning product, vinegar, is purportedly a great germ killer as well, so I don't have to depend on those nasty chemical companies.


I ask you, how does one find the zen in germ warfare? How much yoga do I need before I can resist the urge to don a gas mask each time Maya wakes up with the sniffles? I'm off to find out.... :)

Hmm, maybe I'll swap the yoga for banana cake and peanut butter frosting, as long as the cooks wash their hands!

Well, then, there is your dose of crazy for the day. And mine too!