I am sick and tired. No, literally. I’m on my sixth cold since November, thus averaging one cold per month. What’s worse? My two preschoolers and hubby have all come down with a bad case of it too.
Children average 6-10 illnesses per year in the first two years of life. It’s not pretty and it requires a colossal amount of nurturing, patience and love. Believe me, my heart clutches when my babies struggle to breathe through stuffed noses or bark from croup that has constricted their airways. But, I have to confess that I hate being a mum to sick kids when I’m down with it too. I don’t want to rock an exhausted child to sleep in the middle of the night, keep track of medication times and sling tissues at their snot every five seconds throughout the day.
I want to curl up on the couch and have someone make me chicken soup, watch TV with me, and rub my head despite the mass of crumpled tissues surrounding me. I want someone who will urge me to drink tea, sleep all day, and bring me my favourite cough drops.
I want my mum.