Why Does My Sick Toddler Have More Energy Than I Do?

I should preface this by pointing out that WeeBee never gets sick.  I vaguely remember him having a cold for 2 days when he was about 6 months old, but that's it.  So you can imagine my surprise when he stumbled into my room last night at around 12:30, all congested and running a fever.

Looking back, I was probably more upset than he was.  Having a little boy that never gets sick leaves one sorely unprepared for when they are actually sick.  I stripped him down to his diaper and gave him some cold apple juice, which brought the fever down a little, but then he started shivering so badly he couldn't speak clearly.  Not that this seemed to actually bother him - he proceeded to sit on my bed and wear his monkey pajamas on his head as a hat.  He probably would have slept through the fever if he hadn't been so congested.  Of course, he wouldn't actually let me near him to wipe his nose.  He thought the thermometer that I stuck in his ear was the most awesome thing ever, and insisted on me taking his temperature half a dozen times, but as soon as I came near him with a tissue, he was all "Nooooo, nooo, Mommy!" and squirming to the other end of the bed.  I figured there was no point in getting him all worked up and bringing his temperature back up, so I propped him up with my pillows, put on the classical music station (without any Bob the Builder shout-outs, thankfully) and convinced him to go back to sleep.

He woke up again around 4:30, and his temperature had gone back up again.  This time I gave him some Tylenol that I finally found, and he declared "Yummy."  He was perfectly content crawling all over the bed, talking to his stuffed animals, and trying to take his temperature.  And essentially, that's how he was all day.  Logically, the kid should have been in bed, exhausted and/or miserable.  He hadn't gotten more than 2 hours of sleep at a time, and he was still running a fever.  But no - Mommy and Daddy were stumbling around completely sleep deprived, while WeeBee tore around the house on his toy truck, bleary eyed and runny nosed, pausing only to ask for more juice and wipe his nose on my shirt.  Because, to a two year old, there's a difference between having Mommy wipe your nose, and running up to her and rubbing your sniffly little face all over her t-shirt...

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy he's happy.  I just wish I had that sort of enthusiasm for life today...