Okay, picture this: me, age 8, attempting a daring feat of athleticism by trying to climb the bookshelf. Predictably, I ended up sprawled on the floor, a stack of encyclopedias raining down on me. Did I cry? Maybe for a second. Did I get a scratch? Probably. Did I get seriously injured? Nope. I bounced right back up, dusted myself off, and went back to raiding the cookie jar. It's a testament to my, shall we say, remarkable childhood resilience.
And it got me thinking… my grandma used to say, "Dice que de niña apenas se enfermaba." Basically, she’d say I *hardly ever* got sick as a kid. I mean, remembering back, it kind of rings true. Colds were fleeting nuisances, the flu was something I heard about but never experienced, and I'm pretty sure I only had chickenpox because my mom forced me to play with a friend who was covered in spots (thanks, Mom! ...but also, good call?).
So, what’s the deal? Was I just genetically blessed? Did I unknowingly possess a super-powered immune system only to have it fade into oblivion as I aged? (Wouldn't that be a fun superhero origin story?) Or was there something else going on?
The Mystery of the Never-Sick Childhood
Honestly, I've been pondering this for a while. And I think it's a combination of factors, none of which involve me secretly being an alien, unfortunately. (Sorry to disappoint any aspiring conspiracy theorists reading this – *I know you’re out there!*)
First, I think about exposure. I was a wild child. Seriously. Outside ALL the time. Playing in the dirt, chasing butterflies, sharing popsicles with questionable-looking neighborhood dogs (don't judge me!). I was constantly exposed to… stuff. Probably germs galore. Maybe building a resistance early on is key? You know, like tiny, microscopic boot camp for your immune system.
Then, there’s the diet. While I definitely indulged in my fair share of sugary cereals and questionable snack foods, my mom also cooked a lot of homemade meals. Plenty of veggies, actual real fruit, and meals prepared with love (and maybe a little bit of parental guilt – the perfect recipe!). Perhaps fueling my body with actual nutrients before my teenage years helped build a solid foundation for fighting off illness.
And let’s not forget the power of naivete. Kids are notoriously bad at hygiene. We picked our noses, ate things off the floor, and rarely washed our hands unless explicitly told to (and even then, half the time it was a perfunctory rinse). Maybe not knowing about all the potential horrors lurking around actually helped? Ignorance is bliss, right? At least when it comes to avoiding obsessive hand-sanitizing, perhaps. (Although, maybe don't take hygiene advice from me, just saying...)
Is it all downhill from here?
Of course, now that I'm a grown-up, I feel like I catch every single sniffle that floats within a five-mile radius. Is this just the natural order of things? Do we build up an immunity arsenal as kids only to have it slowly deplete as we age, like a magical health battery running low?
Probably not quite that dramatic. But it does highlight the importance of taking care of ourselves as we get older. Maybe I need to channel my inner 8-year-old, spend more time outside (minus the encyclopedia-related injuries, please), and actually remember to wash my hands. (And maybe lay off the sugary cereal… but that’s a tough one.)
Grandma might not be around to marvel at my youthful immunity anymore, but her words still resonate. "Dice que de niña apenas se enfermaba." It’s a reminder that maybe, just maybe, I can reclaim some of that childhood resilience. Or at least try to avoid getting sick for a little while longer. Wish me luck!
What about you? Were you a ridiculously healthy kid? Did you suddenly become a walking petri dish as an adult? Let me know in the comments!
