Ah-Choo. I’m sick. Nobody cares.
I’m getting sick.
My nose is running, my eyes are droopy, the tissues are tucked into my sleeve. Everyone keeps telling me to slow down and look after myself. Feel better, they say. Take some time for yourself, they say.
DON’T TELL ME – TELL MY FAMILY!
For some reason, these boys, the husband, nobody seems to realize that I’m not just sick, I’M SICK. They say the right things:
“Mommy, are you sick?”
“Mommy, can I get you a kleenex?”
“Honey, take it easy.”
But then the laundry piles up, the homework doesn’t magically get done, they still expect to eat, for the dishes to get washed and for karate class, swimming and playdates to ensue.
I feel like I’m living in some weird Twilight Zone where sick is all in my head. Well, actually, it is all in my head. Pardon my language, but if I get any more snotty, I’m going to have to withdraw my RRSPs and invest in Puffs. Thanks gawd for Puffs Plus with lotion. This was a genius invention. One word of advice: Do not skimp on the tissues. The lotion – it makes all the difference.
So mom marches on, Puffs in hand, and sleeve, as I decontaminate everything I touch because the only thing worse than having to survive motherhood with a nasty cold is having to live through the horrors of sick children or, dare I say it, the dreaded man cold!