It got my son first. A rattling, barking cough that kept me at his bedside, far more worried than he was sick. Then my husband started sniffling, bravely denying that a man of his machismo could be felled by something as insignificant as a cold. Then, it came for me. I fought back as best I could, but by Saturday morning I’d surrendered.

That’s when my son’s eyes both turned red — not just pink, mind you, but demon red and shiny with tears. And so did mine. Hubby, however, was far more fortunate — which is probably a blessing, since my burning, tender eyes needed to rely on him for just about everything over the past two days.

My son handled this all quite gracefully. He sprawled on the sofa, wiping his eyes with a corner of his favorite blanket, and caught up with all of his favorite cartoons on Noggin. Me? I’m a wimp. I sprawled right alongside him and whined over not being able to read, watch a movie, get online, or even sleep without incessant discomfort.

This morning, both my boy and I are doing much better, thank you. His cough has subsided, his nose hardly drips, and his eyes only bear faint traces of pink. As for me, well, the only thing still bothering me are my eyes — but I can’t tell if it’s due to conjunctivitis or lack of sleep. With luck, and a 2-hour block of good programming on Noggin this afternoon, I might be able to rule out the latter.

See you tomorrow. I hope!