After 14-and-a-half years of playing Dr. Mom, my prognosticating skills are top-notch.

You see, I’ve gotten pretty good at reading the signs. For example, last month things looked grim when Noah complained that his throat was super-sore and his body hurt. He felt so miserable and weak, in fact, that he let me spoon-feed chicken broth to him without even batting an eyelash.

That he had the flu was undeniable. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the chance to give my tough high-schooler a little extra TLC, but it was hard to watch.