I have the flu. Yes, I got the flu shot like everybody else, yet I still got the flu. As I lie here in bed in my quiet house, I realize something that is just not fair.
When my kids are sick, I am there for them. I take their temps, give them medicine and fluids, prop their heads on a couple of pillows and let them watch TV marathons. I am at their beck and call, fetching more tissues, making them soup, and answering each weak croak of “Mom” that I hear coming from the sofa.
But when moms are sick, who takes care of them? This morning I tried getting up to wake the kids up for school. I was dizzy and had to lie down. At that moment, what I wouldn’t have given to have my mom fetch me some water and a couple of Tylenols! Later, as I lay in bed, my entire body aching, I debated how badly I really wanted to get up and fetch myself said pain relievers.
I remember when I was first living on my own and had a terrible bout of stomach flu. I became so weak I had to crawl to the bathroom. Wondering whether I would have to call 911 to scrape my dehydrated carcass off the bathroom floor, I gained a new appreciation for all the times my mother took care of me when I was a kid. As the Paramore song goes, “Ain’t it fun living in the real world?”
To be fair, my husband did help me this morning. He fed and watered my 13-year-old and drove her to school. Then he instructed me to go back to bed and not worry about the sink overflowing with dishes and the Christmas gifts I still haven’t wrapped. I am lucky to have him.
My husband also made some coffee, and after drinking a cup, I feel slightly rejuvenated, at least enough to write this post. But still, when my fever spikes and I am sneezing out of control, all I will think is, “I want my mommy!”