Chickenpox Ready to Come Home to Roost

We are waiting for the chickenpox.

From what we understand, these pox are underhanded, duplicitous, incapable of delivering a clear message like a straightforward sneeze.

They sneak up on you, we have heard, plotting silently under your very own roof, dividing like mad and trying to conquer the little bodies of your loved ones until finally they are brave enough to come out, en masse.

Because these pox are chicken, of course, yellow-bellied in the worst possible way. They stall, putting on airs as they hide shamelessly behind this pox mystique.

Who knows what a pox is? It sounds pretty evil, if you ask me.

You think a 4 year-old knows what a pox is? Should we tell our daughter that a witch’s hex has come true? Now there really is a pox on our house!

Oh, these pox are truly pimples, oozing little zits that I refuse to begrudge even an ounce of respect.

Well, OK, just a tad. Because we must acknowledge that they’re out there, somewhere, lurking no doubt. We’ve already received a notice from preschool. It starts, “Your child has been exposed. . . . “

And this, as any parent knows, is one of scariest things that a grown-up can read.

I mean, come on, who wants to plan for a disease? What on earth does one wear? And then suppose that it doesn’t show up?

Just now, I mean. During the time that we have set aside.

At least that’s what were trying to do at our house. Map this thing out.

I’ve checked a lot of books. Incubation periods vary, depending on what best-selling pediatrician opines. My husband and I are counting on being close at hand throughout them all.

Because who wants these kind of visitors when you’re not around? What if they have friends ?

In the meantime, our daughter keeps checking, pushing up her sleeves. “No, not yet,” she says.

“How do you feel?” I ask, over and over again.

“Fine, Mommy, fine!” she says. “You asked me that before.”

Is it too early to drive a child mad? What if this comes out on some therapist’s couch 20 years down the line?

My mother. She never could let well enough alone. I don’t know, it was like she was always looking for something to be wrong with me. Expecting it. Maybe that’s why I’m having trouble with my self-esteem.

So I am trying to relax, for the sake of all concerned.

I’ve already found that a cold that ravaged our house was just that. No casualties except a good night’s sleep. There were no good nights, of course, for me .

Oh, and that cough? That didn’t count because it was connected to the killer cold. I did ask about tuberculosis. The pediatrician managed a smile when he told me no.

The ear infection? It appears that the antibiotics have finally taken care of that. At least it seemed to order our lives. Three times a day: Open wide.

And then there’s the baby, of course. Include her on all the above counts. What her sister brings home, she passes around.

Unfortunately, I have taught her to share.

“Mommy, can you get chickenpox too?” the 4-year-old asks.

I tell her that I think not. I’ve had about every illness known to child.

Except now I think I might be contracting the parental strains, anxiety oozing from every pore. My friends, and mother, say there is no known cure.

Yes, I know. Chickenpox, they say, are generally mild .

Yeah, well, who are they ? is what I would like to know.

Maybe they could come to my house and wait this thing out. It’s not been much fun.

I feel like I’ve been waiting for Godot.

So come on already, pox. Or are you chickening out?