I had very grand plans of writing a new essay this week. After all, I have been neglecting the dishwasher for my new baby, Bonbon Break and the guilt is kicking in.
Plus I fear the wrath of the crazed appliance.
My plans began to derail yesterday when our youngest child threw up all over the floor moments before we were going to go out.
No big deal, I'm a veteran of more illness than I care to remember. I got out my Lysol, cleaned up a crying Peter and canceled our plans.
I didn't think too much more of it till a few hours later I came down with the dreaded bug.
Well, lets just say I got out my Lysol, cleaned my crying self up and went to bed.
Very quickly I realized the same thing I did back in January when this post was first published; Mommies Don't Get Sick Days!
I'm in bed with an extremely sore throat. I can barely
talk. I keep trying to reach the office to let them know I won't be in
today. But I can't seem to get through.
I'm in a full-blown panic because I want to go back to bed, but I have to reach my office to let them know I need a sick day.
Then I wake up.
This is the recurring dream I've had since I left my office job 13 years ago for life as a stay-at-home-mom.
As I was waking up from my familiar dream last night I started to feel relieved that, yes, it was only a dream.
But that feeling was short lived because as I opened my eyes, I saw my darling six-year-old Peter standing over me.
It was 6:30 in the morning.
"Mommy, I want sushi."
"Peter," I croak in a voice that is
better-suited for a 1-900 number and not a mom of three. "Mommy is sick,
go downstairs and watch Nick Jr."
"Mommy, I want breakfast."
"Mommy, I need food."
"Go into the cabinet... and get some cereal. Daddy will... get some muffins in a minute."
I turn to my husband who I know is awake even though he is pretending to be asleep.
"Joe... Please... muffins... for... kids. I'm sick." Each word is excruciating to get out.
I was glad it was Saturday so I could
finally get some rest. I have had the same cold that has kept my house a
revolving door of germs.
Since the kids went back to school after
the holiday break almost two weeks ago, at least one has been home every
day. I thought it was all over Wednesday when all three finally got on a
bus. They looked healthy, and I was glad to say goodbye and blow kisses
at the bus window.
The fact that it was Lizzy's birthday and I
would have to go to school to bring a snack and read a book for her
special day was fine. I could rest afterwards. Joe even took the day
off. I had help. Life is good.
Although, I did pounce on Joe with a Ha!
When he suggested that maybe he shouldn't go to Lizzy's class because he
thought he was coming down with a sinus infection.
"You have got to be kidding. I have been sick for two weeks. I'm going. You can go."
The poor guy didn't stand a chance.
With our birthday duties all done, I
finally got to slip under the covers. I was good to go until 2:30 when
the little people started coming home. Plus Joe was home. He even
brought me a cold tablet and tucked me into our bed.
Life is good, all is right with the world.
That was until the phone rang.
Lizzy, the same child we left only two
hours ago smiling and happy to be celebrating her birthday with the
great kids and teachers in her small special needs class was throwing
Joe and I fly out the door.
Poor Lizzy can't catch a break.
There she is in her adorable pink sweater
that she wore for her birthday, her 'Everyday Tiara' lopsided on her
head as she looks up to see us.
Then the vomiting starts again.
We call the doctor because I'm worried that this new symptom may mean something more sinister is going on.
She looked pitiful. She just laid her head on my lap and slept as we drove from her school to the doctor's office.
Once the doctor's visit is over, but not
until she threw up three more times in their office, we get yet another
diagnosis of a sinus infection. We walk out with yet another
We get Lizzy settled in at home and already she looks better.
Now I'm sick, and stressed out over the day's excitement.
Lizzy is a trooper. She started to perk up
once she got home and could put on her fairy wings. She even had some
pizza and cake later with her brothers and my parents.
But now it was finally Saturday. I was free.
I survived the two weeks. I could now have
my reward. Being sick in bed without my ever-present responsibilities
looming over my head. My partner, best friend, and husband was home.
Saturday. Mom heaven.
But there he was. My adorable Peter relentlessly trying to get me out of bed.
"Mommy, I don't want daddy's breakfast. I want yours."
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I could hear Joe laughing next to me. I knew he was listening to the hounding I was getting.
"Peter... please honey... I really need to rest."
"Peter, daddy will get some muffins from
Dunkin' Donuts. Let mommy sleep," comes the authoritative voice of Joe
that the kids call the mean-daddy voice.
I slip into the abyss once again.
But not for long.
"What... is... it... Peter."
"Can I hold your hand?"
"I love you mommy."
"I love you too."
Now I'm feeling guilty. The poor thing just
wants his mother. I remember that feeling too. I also make a mental
note to call and thank my mother for not eating her young. I know my
sisters and I tortured her when she was sick, just as my son was
torturing me now.
"Yes baby." I now use the sweetest mommy voice I can croak out for my sweet child who just wants to cuddle with his mommy.
"Come walk with me to the kitchen and get me something to eat"
"Joe. Get... up... and take him with you before... I sell him." I croak out before I just pass out and go back to sleep.
It is a hard pill to swallow but I realize
why I keep having my recurring dream. There is nobody to call to let
them know I won't be in work today.
Mommies don't get sick days.
As always, thank you for your constant support of me and my dishwasher! I also want to thank you for visiting and supporting my new baby, Bonbon Break. Our new issue comes out tomorrow and has such great pieces all centering on the theme of New Beginnings! Check it out!!