Sick AND Tired Mommy

There are no sick days for mothers.

I didn’t consider this very carefully when I ventured into motherhood. I didn’t know that my precious little Petri dishes would soon be licking shopping carts, mouthing sippy cups belonging to runny-nosed toddlers and bringing home hungry viruses looking for a vulnerable individual: like a sleep-deprived, stressed out mom. 

Despite immune boosting herbs and positive thinking, I awoke Saturday morning with all the dreaded sign of flu: headache, sore throat, chills and the feeling that a herd of Buffalo had used my body as a dance floor all night.

The baby was crying and the clock read five-thirty in the morning.  “Your turn,” I said, nudging my sleeping husband.

“Nooo,” he whined, turned over and started snoring.

I tried to lift my head. Like a sack of bricks, it came crashing back down on the pillow.

“Please,” I begged, poking him a little harder, “I’m sick.”

As the baby’s cries begin to sound like a smoke alarm, he rolls out of bed, grumbling. He leaves the bedroom door wide open for my listening pleasure.

The crying stops and is replaced by the squeaking of the crib as baby is lifted out. Then plastic and metal clang together as my husband deposits baby on floor with the contents of the toy bin. A short pause and then I hear heavy creaking as my husband flops onto my four-year-old’s bed.

Not surprising, the four-year-old is now awake, rattling off thirty already formed questions to Daddy who is probably already snoring away.  Soon the baby is screeching again and both kids are in my room asking for breakfast.

Maybe I could drive myself to a hotel and have a real sick day. I’d check in, draw the blackout shades, and crawl under the clean sheets and sleep. The bathroom, TV and chicken noodle soup from room service would be a bonus. Most importantly, there would be no screaming babies, conversation-demanding preschoolers, clueless husbands or barking dogs.

But, before that can happen, my husband needs to wakes up.

By Maya Creedman