How this Mom Gets Down with the Sickness…on September 5, 2012 at 5:00 am
You know what one thing really sucks, when you cross over into adulthood?
This goes for ANY kind of sick…. From a mildly stuffy nose to projectile vomiting onto any surface that has not proven itself to be “easy to clean” Being sick sucks. As a woman and a mother… it sucks even more violently. Not that I would ever give any of my childhood sick days a big thumbs up… but, at least I had my Mommy to take care of me. My Mommy with her endless supply of saltine crackers (non-generic, by the way) and all the ginger-ale that I could drink. She was the keeper of the cool wash rags and would never even flinch as I was hurling into the depths of one of her large cooking pots. Funny thing is that now, as I’m reflecting on it…. I really don’t recall her ever being sick. I mean… she HAD to have gotten sick sometimes. Right?
My own children could probably tell you the exact number of times that I’ve been sick, during their years on this earth. Where my Mom must have buckled down and pushed through the headaches, achy bones and toothaches…. I have not managed to follow that path. I have not been able to take the Mom “high road” regarding illness. When I’m sick, it is declared throughout the household…. by yours truly. I’m either moaning about it… tearfully yelling at people about it… or talking loudly to myself about it. That tiny smidgen of patience that I have manged to grow, over the last 14 years… is the first thing to retreat when some random dirty virus decides to wage war upon my immune system. Everything irritates the living hell out of me. That cute thing the Beast usually does, which would normally get him treated with a cookie… gets him called a bad name, pushed at by the ball of my foot, while I wail “Beast…. go the hell away… I’m sick, damnit!” If the kids attempt to get my attention, I immediately turn into a tantrum-ing 4-year-old… flailing on the floor, while muttering to myself about how no one in this whole damned world is ever going to freaking care if I’m sick. If the same child attempts to get my attention twice in a row, I curl right up into the fetal position and moan about how I freaking hate my life and how I wish I had kids that loved me… Dickie will usually try a few extra times because he enjoys sending me into hysterics.
This is no way to treat a sick person, damn it! Where are my cool wash rags…. why the hell isn’t anyone emptying out my large cooking pot containing a warm mixture of stomach acid and generic crackers…. where the heck is my MOMMY!?!?!
Being an adult definitely has its perks…. I mean, I get to pick out all my own clothes.. I can eat as many cookies as I want to… and I can use the sentence “Because I SAID so” towards a child and totally get away with it. But, I’m not sure the whole “nobody fucking takes care of me when I’m sick” stipulation is worth it…
Oh, to be a kid again…