On the Monday prior to Thanksgiving I went grocery shopping and as I entered the store I thought, "I can't do this. It's not fair. It's not right. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it." And there was nothing I could do about it. My brain felt like sludge and my nose was filled with cement, my mouth tasted like boogers. A mere day later, as all of this nastiness settled into my chest, I began to cough and hack. Ah, but I didn't yet know this aspect of my fate.
When I got home, my son, who had had a minor cough, now had a heavy cough and a runny nose. So off to our respective doctor's we went. Luckily, all he needed was cough syrup. Mommy, on the other hand, needed a full ten days of antibiotics.
And this three days before hosting Thanksgiving. Three days before guests and cooking and, and, and...
I got through it. Don't we always? I mean, really, don't we always just put on a show and save the day.
But my muscles ache. Not from illness, but from lack of exercise and I feel guilty and am not looking forward to the sore muscles once I have resumed my crazy, whacked out, completely obsessed fitness routine. Well, maybe the sadist/masochist in me is looking forward to it just a wee little bit.
Mommies, if you are sick, REST. We make our kids and husbands do it. Pull some of that Mommy Power on yourself. I did. And come Monday, that road is all mine.