Being a mostly stay at home mom has up sides like that of an
incredibly tall (and lets face it, somewhat phallic) skyscraper, and down sides
that rival the depths of Mayan sacrificial pits.
While the ups are amazing, one of the things that I really,
really dislike about being a stay at home mom is being sick. Not that I
actually enjoyed being sick while I was an office slave, but at least then I
could stay home and spend the day binge watching every episode of something on
Netflix, and eating ice cream without having to care for anyone beyond my
pathetic sickly self.
Well, those days are gone.
Being at home with kids means that they are no longer in
daycare; I am the daycare, sick or otherwise. If I’m sick, tough shit, I have
to deal with it. Breakfast must still be made, regardless of how the thought of
toast makes you want to die, kids must be shuttled to their various activities
(try not to puke en route), and you must still provide enough coherent adult
supervision to ensure your kids don’t play with the mousetraps.
It also leads to conversations like this: Honey, could you
please entertain yourself and your brother for a few minutes while mommy goes
to the bathroom? Why? Mommy feels sick. My tummy hurts. No, please don’t watch.
Fine. Stay. Yes, thank you, I know it’s gross.
And then there is the guilt mixed with hate that I feel for
my husband when I’m sick. For example, I spent a large portion of last night
debating whether or not to beg my husband to stay home from work so I could be
sick like an adult...which basically means acting like a big baby all day. At 4
in the morning, the rational side of me had pretty much fucked off for the
night, and I lay there feeling guilty for even thinking about asking him to
take time off work so I could stay in bed, yet despising the fact that he got
actual sick days while I had to tough it out. At 4am that pretty much translates to hate, with very little
direction or focus. He could call in to work if he felt like he was dying, why
couldn’t I?
Despite the guilt of having to ask, I did finally wake him
up to tell him not to leave me at home with kids by myself. Well, asked isn’t
really the word. It was closer to begging and threatening mixed together:
Thregging?
I don’t break down and do that very often, but he is also
very aware that I don’t handle being sick very well…especially being sick to my
stomach. Having two kids for me meant 18 combined months of pregnant vomiting hell.
I tend to panic a bit every time I feel sick, like it’s the harbinger of
unending stomach upset. In any case, luckily he was able to stay home, allowing
me to wallow in my own misery and pity. Not a pretty picture, but an honest
one.
And with that, I’m pretty much tapped out. Time for some
rest and hopefully some relief. I have nothing but respect for any parent who
can cope with illness and kids at the same time....you are
better people than me.
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