Sorry about that sick trifecta you just survived. Going from bronchitis directly into the flu and topping it off with a sinus infection is a lot to endure—for me. Sure, it's a bummer that you were sick. And those antibiotics are a doozy on your little tummy, but your ailments are an even bigger doozy on me. You're like a schedule buzz kill. I can't get anything done.
You may not realise this, but you and I entered into a bit of a contract when you were born. For a couple years you got to be an infant, unable to do anything for yourself. Then you turned 3'ish and you got a little less needy. Then you went to school and the rules changed and so did our deal. And so we entered into a new contract where I help you with homework and educate you on navigating the social nuances that you never had to deal with in Pre-school. I even promise to show up for assemblies and endure endless holiday shows and spring sing-a-longs even if you have just one line. The only thing you have to do is go to school every day. That's all. Just go to school. Why? Because learning is important. And I've got a ton of s*!t to do while you're learning stuff that someday you're going to look up on your iPhone.
So you kept your end of the deal until cold and flu season hit, turning your classroom into a veritable petri dish with one kid sneezing his Mum's free time on to the next. With every sneeze, another Mum lost a week of work and more. Finally, the sneeze got to you. The flu took you and me down. You got sick, but I had to stay home with you while you got over it. So what exactly can't I get done while you're sitting with a fever?
Well, for one thing it's nearly impossible to work with a sick kid at home unless one works as a waitress. Your constant requests for water, Tylenol, cosy snacks, soup, and refills on ginger ale and water have me feeling like I'm running a diner. Running being the operative word since you start whimpering every time you need a snack or a new channel and I have to come running.
You know what else I can't do while you're laying on the couch moaning? I can't eat or pee. When I'm not serving you warm buttered english muffins, I'm trying to work. This leaves little time for bodily functions like eating and peeing. If you don't go back to school soon, I'll have anorexia and a U.T.I.
My nails look like hell. Manicures are out with a sick kid at home. Sure, I could have lugged you with me, iPad in hand. But even I don't need a manicure so badly that I'd infect the whole place with your germs. Prior to you getting sick, I was three weeks overdue for a haircut. Now, I just look like I'm bringing back the 80's and hoping to be the first female member of Motley Crue. And forget about those dentist and O.B. appts I had scheduled that take 6-months to reschedule. There's no possible way I'd even attempt to explain and O.B. appointment to you. So I won't.
But the thing you make it hardest to do is relax, kid-free. That's because you're there making kid-free impossible. Because when you're not around, I like to do things like aimlessly meander through Facebook to see what people I haven't seen in ten years are up to. I can't putter through closets and cabinets, making myself feel productive by reorganizing them for hours on end. Likewise, I can't clean your room. That's because you're in it. Everyday. All the time.
And the one thing I like to when you're not around is waste time. You make that impossible, just by being there sneezing on the couch. The only time a Mum gets to really relax is when she's really sick and Dad takes notice and says, "Oh, I guess I'm going to have to pinch-hit for the entire day, not just a nap or two." So actually, maybe it's good that you're home sick. In fact, why don't you come closer. If I'm lucky, you'll sneeze your flu right on to me and then I can jump into bed and relax. Lord knows, you being home sick has been making that impossible.