This past week, I was taking care of my sick baby. He had bronchiolitis. Fever, wheezy, cough, no appetite, clingy, lethargic, and up all night. You name it, he had it. And throughout the entire week, I had to stay home with him, while still attempting to get in a 40 hour work week. Which is complete bullshit by the way. By Thursday night, I basically broke down crying when my own dad came over to bring us dinner and play with the kids for a little while. And all awhile, my baby breathed on me, snot-rocketed all over me, coughed in my eyeball, pooped on my hands, drank from my cup, and basically contaminated everything with his funk. And for whatever reason, during this entire week, I felt immune to his infectious virus.
Oh how wrong I was. The tables have now turned. Saturday morning I woke with a wave of anxiety as I noticed that something was wrong with me…. You know the feeling…. The slight thick phlegm building up in the back of your throat. The nasal congestion starting to strain your breathing. The tiny tickle in the back of your throat. Oh yes, you have it, I was getting sick.
Immediately, all these OCD thoughts started running through my drowsy, yet paranoid brain as I begin to go through the five stages of grief.
- Denial. “There is no possible way I am sick. Moms can not get sick. I thought moms were suppose to be immune to all germs. If I ignore it, it will go away. This is not happening to me. I can not get sick. It is not an option.”
- Anger. “I don’t have time for this shit! I have way too much going on. It isn’t fair!!!!! This is fucking ridiculousness.”
- Bargaining. “Ok, if I get sick, it is only for today and that is it! If my body can just hold out for one more day, I can get a ton of shit done first, and then I will allow myself to be sick for 1 day tops”.
- Depression. “This is so horrible. How on earth could I get sick? I never get sick. Well fuck it. If I am going to be sick, I am going to milk it for all its worth, and just not get out of bed for days. Maybe I will eat a carton of ice cream and gain 10 pounds. Who cares, anyway? I am going to feel like shit forever.”
- Acceptance. “Ok, I give in. I am getting sick. This is my being sick. I can deal with this. I’ll be sick for a few days, and then be better. I have tissues, vitamins, juice, popcycles, ipad, etc.
We all know that when the mom gets sick, the family turns to shit. No matter how fabulous your husband is. He could be the best house husband ever. Rub your feet, grocery shop, keep the bed made, etc. But when the mom is sick, the family goes to shit. There must be a college thesis written on this very topic somewhere.
When any normal adult starts to feel ill, they make some tea, get cozy on the couch with some TV, let the kids have all the screen time they want. That way, they can rest, hunker down and try and get better, in hopes they can catch it before it gets worst.
Not me…. no way. When I woke up Saturday morning with that oh so yucky feeling, I got out of bed, put on my grubbies, and cleaned the entire house from top to bottom at 8:00 am. Then went grocery shopping, and took the kids to the beach to run around and get their sillies out. My theory is that, if I can take care of business now, before I am feeling like complete shit, I can really relax and enjoy being sick in a clean house, a full refrigerator, and tired kids. No bad huh?