OK, I know that I’m stating the obvious here. But still, I feel impelled to declare that Being Sick Sucks.
The thing that sucks the most, to me personally, is that I am not able to just lie down and sniffle miserably to myself when I get sick. Because I am (dramatic music here) Mommy.
Yes, that’s right! Cape streaming in the breeze, Wonder Mum must boldly go forth and do her duty, even if she is breathing through less than a quarter of one nostril and has the lung capacity of a flea!
My being sick does not exempt me from such things as creating meals for the Denizens. It also does not cause the laundry to do itself, or the bathrooms to suddenly self-clean. Groceries will not be delivered, and they certainly will not be putting themselves away. Bills must still be paid, even if I’m so muzzy with cold and flu medication that I have to use the calculator to figure out what 2 times 20 equals.
Worst of all, the baby will not decide to simply nap until mommy feels better. No! Quite the contrary! Bacon Bit has in fact developed the same cold I have, and is not only not napping during the day, but spending a considerable portion of the night wailing and crying, too.
He is doing this because he feels like shit. But it feels an awful lot like persecution to me. Especially at 1:15 in the morning, when I’m up for the third time trying to comfort him back to sleep. My husband, usually a lot of help in such times of trouble, also has a cold. For him, being sick imparts the most amazing ability: he can lie in bed saying, “Let the little fart cry himself to sleep! I’m too tired to deal with it!” whereas I’m pretty sure that if I listened to him cry for more than, say, five minutes my spleen would actually implode inside my body.
Hard not to feel as though the entire world hates you at that point. And Bacon Bit was so frustrated with his own shit-feeling-like-ness that he was flailing at me with his little fists, grabbing tiny handfuls of hair and yanking, and kicking and arching his back as if he wanted nothing more to do with me – except, of course, that if I set him down even for an instant, his screaming would intensify until every piece of glass in the house was quaking ominously, ready to shatter.
I looked down at his tiny, six month old self, and I thought, You ungrateful little twerp!
Of course, I can’t stay mad at him. Plagued with empathy, I know just how he feels. His head hurts, his throat hurts, his nose is all plugged up and he doesn’t get the concept of breathing through his mouth very well.
He wants his mommy, but yet mommy just isn’t doing him that much good. I can solve everything else that upsets him, so obviously I just don’t understand his problem. I know! I’ll yell louder, maybe then she’ll do something about this…
The good news is, colds only last for so long. The kid who gave us all this disease is over it, so I figure we’ve got another day, maybe two at the outside, and then the husband, baby and myself should be feeling better.
At which point, I suppose I’ll have no further excuse for not getting the lawns mowed…
The Shoemaker’s Children
18 hours ago