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Mommies don't get sick days

[Warning: What follows is a whole lot of "poor me." I won't be hurt if you choose to just skip this and hop over to Perez Hilton or some site more interesting. Or, feel free to comment something along the lines of "Suck it up, you whiny brat, there are thousands of people dying in Haiti now. Your life is just fine."]

I am low on patience and compassion this morning, and though I feel a little bad about that, I need to vent a bit now. My husband, who is also my best friend and companion through good times and bad, has a nasty head cold. You know I adore him and I'm sorry that he feels awful, bt I'm also a bit jealous and grouchy that he can lie in bed moaning for two days because he has some congestion pain in his ear and head. I probably should be doting over him, making him homemade chicken soup and rubbing Vicks on his chest or something. But no. I'm griping.

You know why? Because not only do I have symptoms of this same head cold, including a searing pain in my left cheek, I also have a whole freaking person growing inside my body at the moment. Besides the aching head and stuffy nose, I am also dealing with stabbing pains between my legs, a constant muscle ache across my hips and back, and plantar fasciitis in my left foot. I have heartburn that simply laughs at any and all medication. My clothes don't fit right, my shoes are too tight, and my boobs really hurt. My stomach, lungs, and liver are battling it out for the same real estate, while my belly buddy pummels them all day long for fun. And I won't even discuss what the heck is going on with my bladder.

Do I get to lie in bed and moan? Come on, now. You know mommies don't get sick days! Nope, instead I grab a box of tissues, drink some lemon tea, eat an orange, and gulp down some Tylenol Sinus because I have to go to work, then come home to keep the energetic 4-year-old occupied enough that he doesn't bother his sick Daddy. I have to keep up with the cooking and the dishes and the laundry, pick up the cars and dinosaurs and super heroes that line the floors. Just getting the child and myself dressed and fed in the morning wears me out, but I've got to keep going because I have tight work deadlines, too. Meanwhile, the man with the head cold snores away in our cozy marshmallow bed.

I love you, babe, I really do. I'm not mad at you because I know it's not your fault that you're sick. And when you're well, you're a tremendous help with the kid-wrangling and the household stuff. But today I feel sick, too, and I'm grumpy and hormonal and sore and exhausted and I'm taking it out on you because you're here staring at me with that pitiful puss, looking at me as if I either gave you this cold or I have the power to take it away.

I'm also thinking, damn, if a head cold knocks you flat for two days, it's a good thing that women do the baby carrying and baby birthing and baby nursing because otherwise one of two things would happen: (1) Things would simply shut down for 9 months while the gestating daddies laid in bed, or (2) There would be way fewer humans on the planet.

And just think: In two months or so, this small person has to come out of my body (and we all know there's no good way for that too happen). I wonder how much time I'll get to just lie in bed and moan then? Hmph.


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