Doesn’t Mom Get a Sick Day, Too?

It’s 9:00 P.M. and the kids are finally in bed. I flop down on the couch and start to feel hot. It’s probably just my usual random hot flashes (don’t askI’ve got a lot going on hormonally). When it doesn’t subside, I blame the cold air and our overachieving heater. My husband agrees to turn on the ceiling fan despite the January weather outside. Aaaaaa-choooooo! I belt out a giant sneeze that stirs the dogs and causes us both to look at each other and wait in silence to see if it woke up the kids. Now that I think of it, my throat has been hurting off and on all day… Ohhh, nooo.

The world does not stop turning when mom is sick.

In fact, it rarely slows down. Wonder Woman better put on her big girl panties, because I swear everyone suddenly becomes more demanding and crises seem to occur when all you need is an hourtwo, topsto crawl under the covers and give your body a fighting chance to bounce back. But that ain’t happening. I think back to my single girl, young lawyer days when I would send the obligatory work email that I was sick and then crawl deep under my fluffy white comforter (the days of white bedding are now over, obviously) to sleep. Of course, I’d stick my head out long enough to send my own mom a text to let her know I was sick, and in true mom fashion, she’d show up as soon as she could to bring me some soup.

Back to reality… I crawl into bed and hope to God that I’ll wake up refreshed in the morning and that this is just a false alarm.

Instead, morning greets me with a headache that I hope is mere cedar fever but seems to be the hallmark of the flu. I’m in a true panic. My mind races with everything that must be accomplished today. Where exactly did my husband say he was traveling to today, and what time will he be back? What on earth can I make for dinner tonight that is easy but still healthy? As the day goes on and I’m still in bed in my PJs, my dinner plan starts morphing into what is easy and at least acceptable on the healthy scale? By 2:00 P.M., I start to think of restaurants on the way home from Dudette’s dance class that Dad can pick up from.

Meanwhile, I discover it is quite possible to run the world from my command center in bed. My laptop is both a blessing and a curse when all I want to do is sleep, but work calls and emails insist otherwise. I watch the clock tick closer and closer to 3:00 P.M. school dismissal time. I feel guilty wishing for just one more hour to get in that nap before everyone comes home. I think of all the laundry I could have done today, if only I’d had the energy to get out of bed and do something other than eat Goldfish and drink Gatorade. I do muster the strength to gather up snot rags, the empty Goldfish bag, and my empty teacup from my nightstand before everyone comes home. If they see me in a disabled state, if they smell weakness, all hell will break loose. It’s a scientific certainty that when Mom is sick, things go awry.

I let my husband know that Mom is calling in sick this eveninghe’ll have to take care of dinner. No one takes me seriously until I refuse to eat dinner at the table (a must at our house) and instead pick at my take-out Italian food in bed. Work emails and calls have almost ceased, and now I’m counting down until bedtime. I tell my husband he is going to have to get up early in the morning and pack the kids’ lunches. Silence, followed by a very slow “OK.” But then I lie in bed thinking of everything that will go wrong with that planall irrational, fever-induced thoughts, I might add: Wrong snack paired with the wrong kid, too much turkey in today’s sandwich won’t leave enough for tomorrow’s sandwich, or the horror if the kids end up with the wrong lunch box. I take pride in my lunch-packing, and I can’t have the standards lowered. When I’m awakened at 4:30 A.M. by the puppies needing to go out in the pouring rain for a potty break, I give serious thought to going ahead and packing the kids’ lunches while I’m already up.

But I convince myself that even Mom is allowed a sick day now and then. I repeat to myself, “Go to sleepthe world will keep turning even if you don’t pack the lunches,” until I conk back asleep. Yes, it’s true: Moms can call in sick. The family will survive. Your pay will not be docked.

I bolt out of bed at 7:00 A.M. the next morning and, without giving it another thought, I proceed straight to the kitchen and pack those lunches. The show must go on. 

Bridget
Bridget was born and raised in San Antonio and moved back here after college and law school. She is a wife, full-time attorney, wrangler of four kids ages 15, 13, 3 and almost 2. As both a stepmom and mom, her life and house is always full and she loves to share about blended family life. Bridget is also passionate about infertility advocacy after having suffered multiple miscarriages and multiple rounds of IVF. Now with her stepkids, rainbow baby, and surprise baby, her family is complete and she is soaking up every minute of motherhood!