Posted by GIRL'S GONE CHILD | Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I'm sick. You're sick. We're all sick. Sick, sick.
I never used to get sick before Archer. Maybe once every five years I'd get a cold but other than that, I've always been pretty healthy. Used to be. Past tense.
Because for the last sixteen and a half months I've been perpetual sick-chick. I'm like that nose in the commercial that walks around on two legs, except I'm clutching a small, sneezing baby nose as I try to entertain (us) by cranking the volume to the ONE children's CD we have. (I don't mean to deprive my child but one seems like more than enough.)
Before Archer was born I could afford to get sick. Shit, man, I looked forward to it! It was a treat! I got to watch High Fidelity a hundred times. I stayed in bed and wore my PJs to walk the dogs and ate a shitload of buttered bread and applied Vicks Vapo rub like moisturizer. Awesome! Being sick was an excuse to buy trashy magazines and eat out of a can. Being sick was an excuse to have dirty hair, sleep until noon and wear (gulp) Ugg Boots.
Ah, yes because in ye olden days, I didn't have to work until 1am five nights a week. I didn't have a toddler-on-the-run (crawl) and have to chase him around the house, wasted on cough syrup, tripping on the side-effects of Tylenol PM, after accidentally taking it instead of the regular. (Has anyone ever fallen asleep face-down in hardwood?) Yes, now I can say I have.
Being sick with a baby/toddler/child is pretty much the same thing as breaking both legs and then being asked to run a marathon. Effing H'ing impossible.
I do not have a staff of seventeen and now that my baby's daddy is back to work and the dogs STILL can't housekeep (WTF, Cooper!?) it's all up to me.
And so I lie here, clad in sweatpants, hair matted to my forehead c/o the grease from last week's hair-product overdose, looking out across a horizon of Legos and Theraflu boxes, drunk on exhaustion, with a brilliant idea:
Moms should be immune to all illness during the first ten years of parenthood.
I would be willing to sacrifice my future health (an entire year of postnasal drip would be a bargain!) for the above request.
Cure me now and keep me healthy until 2015 and I'll never swear again. Or make a left turn without using my blinker. Or take more than one free sample. Or double-dip.
Are you there, God? Goddess? Allah? James Brown? Charlie Brown? I'll worship a false idol if that's what it takes. L. Ron Hubbard?
Because this is me bitching, with ONE child. I can't even begin to know the hardship that is MWSWMTOC. (Mothering While Sick With More Than One Child) I presume it's like running a marathon with two broken legs AND no head.
And so my hat goes off to the headless.
(Sorry about the hair.)