Cubby had it first. Then Jack went down a few days ago.
Last night Charlie succumbed, waking up screaming and barking that awful croup cough, panicked because he couldn't breathe. I took him outside to look at the moon*, because cooler, damp air is helpful with croup. Then he sat on my lap in the kitchen and breathed in the steam from a hot mug of water, taking sips of cold water occasionally before he eventually decided he could sleep again.
This happened twice, once at 1 a.m. and again at 4:45 a.m.
Jack woke up crying and coughing at 6:15 a.m. He sat with me until 6:30 a.m., at which point I had to dump him in bed with A. and go get Cubby up for school. Waking Cubby up also woke Charlie up.
Cubby was whining and crying that he didn't want to go to school. (He's not sick anymore. Just grumpy.)
Charlie refused to go back to sleep and instead collapsed on the mat at the bottom of the stairs, wailing that he couldn't come upstairs.
Jack was crying in the bed with A., who is now also sick with a cold.
So, at 6:30 a.m. I was running the shower in the bathroom to make it steamy for Charlie--at which point I hauled him upstairs and sat him in there with a mug of hot honey water--forcing Cubby to get dressed and putting out his breakfast, packing Cubby's lunch, and making hot tea for Jack and A.
The three contagious amigos.
Keep your fingers crossed for me that I don't come down with something, okay? Someone has to keep this snotty ship from sinking.
* In my pajamas, which meant I was outside in a t-shirt and shorts, barefoot in the 38-degree night with half-frozen rain coming down. Motherhood literally pushes you out of your comfort zone with some regularity.