I wrote this in the beginning of December when I was sick. I didn’t post it for fear of looking like I was writing a “poor me, I’m sick” post, but as I see more and more moms getting sick right now I thought I would put it out for what it is – a “it’s hard for moms to get sick” post.
So what’s harder than doing my job? I’ll tell you. It’s laying on the couch while someone else does my job. I have mono (for the fourth stinking time, which is a whole other rant), and my dad offered to come help. If I overdo it – at all – I get very, very shaky and my side hurts a lot (spleen enlargement). So I lay here, and hear everything going on in my house. The kids aren’t listening, dad doesn’t know where the dishes go, homework needs to be done, Ada won’t get dressed, laundry needs to be switched, homework STILL isn’t getting done, it’s time to go to school, you get it. NONE of this is my dad’s fault, it’s just that my kids are crazy. And there’s a lot to be done. And I just know what all needs to be done, and where everything is, and where everything goes, and what the schedules are, and HOW ON EARTH AM I SUPPOSED TO LAY HERE???
Here’s how – my body reminds me. My arms shake when I pick up my laptop. My side suddenly feels like I’ve been stabbed.
Oh right. I’m sick.
I’m trying (really I am) to learn something. If it has to, homework can wait til Chad comes home, because he will be the disciplinarian when I can’t. I will calmly tell Ada, from the couch, that she may not eat breakfast until she is dressed as a consequence for her past two days of getting dressed too slowly, and she knows I mean it even if I can’t get up to reinforce it. Thankfully, I have a complete mental map of my kitchen and can direct dad to anything and everything he needs, right from my couch (even the baking soda that’s in a ziplock bag in a shoebox). And when my girls are telling fart jokes, and dad laughs and laughs, I will let it go. Because they are making cookies, and memories.
I will accept help this week. I will be grateful that my dad is willing to travel to another state to take care of me, my home, and my children, to give me the chance to rest and hopefully recover more quickly. If I don’t accept help, I will get more sick, and that will be much, much worse than listening to someone else discipline my kids for a week or so.