So moms really do get sick days.
We just need to practically be at death’s door in order for it to happen.
Maybe I’m exaggerating ever-so-slightly.
Being sick on a weekend also helps. That way, your amazing husband can pick up the slack and fend off the children while you lie in bed and stare listlessly at the ceiling.
My two youngest kiddos have RSV and ear infections. Go big or go home, right?
Which means that for the past week, I have been in survival mode. Everyone was up at some point or another during the night, EVERY night, and my days were filled with nebulizer treatments and, understandably though regrettably, whiney children.
I can think of better things to do with myself rather than hold a mask up to my infant’s face in a futile attempt to get her to inhale her medicine.
What doesn’t kill us, right?
Sleep deprivation left me in prime position to be picked off by whatever nasty bug is going around. That and the fact that I am getting old.
Usually, I fare relatively well. But since I’ve been existing off of carbs and ginger ale and whatever else I could get my hands on in a hurry, and running on a sleep deficit, I don’t think my body was ready to fight off the germs.
The result? Bronchitis and an ear infection.
So, it’s my husband who is the last one standing at the moment. He’s been incredible, and very understanding of the fact that I sound like a 600 pound gorilla when I cough and that I leave a trail of tissues in my wake where ever I go.
Ladies – I may choose to write more on this subject later, but let me just say that a man who is willing to pick up your used tissues and take them to the trash, and to shine a flashlight down your throat to check for strep is a man worth keeping and a man worth waiting for. He is worth more than all the jewels of the Nile. Got it?
I laid in bed on Sunday, wishing that I could instead be consoling myself by binge watching The Good Wife or Downton Abbey. Instead, I got to prop myself up with pillows and stare at my phone until it felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my skull.
I am terrible at making myself take a nap, even when I’m sick. I’m just not good at it.
While I was laying there, I couldn’t help but think about all of the things that I take for granted. The ability to breathe out of both nostrils and to smell the crown of my baby’s noggin, for instance. As I navigated the various stages of grief over the clogged feeling in both ears, I realized that I should be taking a larger bite out of life.
(It’s helpful to note that I do this almost every time I get sick. I wonder what this world has come to.)
I vow to throw my phone into the bay and to look up and do all of the things. I vow that when I get better, I will go hang-gliding or mountain climbing. I will get up early every day, and become a morning person. I will learn how to sew and knit and crochet. I will clean the house from top to bottom. I will go scuba diving and take cooking classes.
I will be a success at everything!!
Annnd then I get well again. And I forget. Until the next time that I am bed ridden.
And that’s kind of sad.
I’ll lay there, lost in my thoughts and to do list, nursing a cold cup of coffee and listening to rain on my tin roof.