Elizabeth and I have a cold. And, as most mothers will probably agree, there’s nothing more pathetic than a toddler with a cold.
Unless it’s a baby with a cold. She sits on the couch with her cuddly blanket wrapped around her asking, in the most pitiful voice imaginable, for more juice.
Because they always get juice when they’re sick.
She asks me in her raspy voice to read her a story, to snuggle her, to hold her. And I, tissue in hand, am happy to oblige.
Being sick is life’s way of making you take a time out; to pause. It’s a time to slow down and take care of yourself and your little one. It’s a time to remember why you buy the expensive tissues and that it’s time to restock your DayQuil supply. It’s also a time to remember breathing comfortably with fondness. And it’s a time to cash in on favours from friends for a chicken soup delivery.
So we’ve spent most of a week with our noses red, our voices deep, our blankets piled. We’ve taken our medicine, plugged in the humidifier, and eaten chicken soup. And we’ve cuddled while watching movies and reading.
While it hasn’t all been fun – I long for a solid night’s sleep – it has been interesting. Without having a husband to cook for, the kids and I have indulged in sick day foods. Without having another adult in the house, we’ve decided that we’re just three kids. And three kids go to bed early, sleep a little past the alarm, and watch Spongebob Squarepants. And when the biggest kid calls in sick at work, it’s time to take long naps followed by an even longer nap.
As much as I’ve enjoyed slowing down a little, I can’t wait to feel well enough to have coherent thoughts. Although, now that I think of it, Spongebob might be the reason why my thoughts are a little muddled at the moment.