Five stages

Twenty pounds of potatoes. That’s what I’m stuck with now. Both my husband and I were crazy sick and ended up having to cancel our plans to host Thanksgiving. So guess who is eating potatoes at every meal…for the next two weeks?! I haven’t been this ill for quite some time. And I was largely reminded how much it sucks. Plain and simple. It’s been a long week but I think I’ve identified five stages of the torture. Perhaps you can relate, to some degree.

Stage one: The morning you wake up and you feel like complete $hit. First instinct is to curl up, throw the covers over your head and go back to sleep. NOPE. You’re a mom. You don’t get that option. So I stumble out of bed, do the mom thing. And then dive into project disinfect. Bedding. Blankets. Counters. Door handles. Light switches. Electronics. Clothes. Give me that shirt. What?? Why?! I’m still wearing it, Mom! Well, I may have coughed on it. Seriously. It’s like a terrible version of Danny Tanner around here. Must. Clean. Everything.

Stage two: All energy has been drained. Head is exploding. You’ve spent more time in your bathroom than anywhere else. {Pretty sure there are fifty shades of grey in our floor tile. And I detected every single one. In case anyone asks}. The Kleenex box has made itself a permanent fixture on your body. And you can’t quite remember the last time you took a shower. Part of you hopes that will defer your daughter from wanting to be picked up. But no such luck. Then there’s the oldest. Mom, are you feeling better? No. Mom, are you feeling better yet? NO. Mom, why are you crying? It’s Wheel of Fortune. I’m not crying! Then why are your eyes all watery? {Aside from all the questions, he was a pretty amazing kid who helped out a ton so I definitely owe him that}.

Stage three: This is the kicker. All you want is a good night’s sleep. And then at 4:00AM your daughter starts screaming. The something is wrong kind of scream. Sure enough. She’s thrown up all over herself. And her crib. Sweet Jesus. You haven’t been able to smell anything for a couple days but a quick whiff just cleared your insides up like no other. This job calls for that co-parent. You know, the one who’s been snoring like a trucker, breathing so loudly you’re fairly certain you might actually smother him with a pillow and ultimately hasn’t really done much to contribute to your good night’s sleep. Yep. That one. So you wake him up, he stumbles out of the bedroom and then just stands there. For real. You’re half tempted to wave the vomit-stained sheets in his face to see if THAT will wake him up. But then you remember you’re kind of a good person. Poor little girl requires a bath and is just as disoriented as her father as I clean her up. The best part is you know very well that both of them are going to fall back asleep the minute their head hits the bed and you’ll be stuck. Awake. Coughing. Blowing your nose. Unable to breathe. And even more exhausted. Isn’t life grand?!

Stage four: Instead of getting better, you actually feel like you’re getting worse. Up until now, you and your husband have been on the same cycle. But he’s been able to get some sleep. And he’s not a mom. 🙂 Plus, if you’ll recall he’s that person who is good at pretty much everything he does. Which I didn’t realize included getting sick. But I guess it does. Because he just beat you to the finish line.

Stage five: What I can only assume is the final lap in this icky race. So far motherhood has circled around me about ten times. And reminded me that life goes on, even when I’m sick. As I’m grappling for the very end and hoping this sickness is on its way out, my body has officially kicked my own ass and informed me there is nothing left. I’m finally recognizing that I won’t actually finish this race if I don’t find a way to rest. Oh wait. That’s not my body telling me that. It’s my husband. Direct orders from the man of the house. Go to bed. Stay there. And text if you need anything. God love him. So I just spent nearly the entire day sleeping, resting and curled up in bed with hot cups of tea. Hardly lifting a finger with the kids. Or the meals potatoes. I’m feeling pretty blessed. Even amidst this nasty virus that has seemingly plagued all of me. I have a family who takes care of me when I just can’t anymore. And I’m pretty sure this is the last stage. It has to be. Because I’ve got to get back up and take care of them.