As I typed my last post, I had that familiar, ominous tickle in the back of my throat. I knew it was coming, but just as I always do, I denied it as long as I could. It was allergies. The air was dry. I talked too much at work that day. It was anything but a cold coming on.
Silly me. Of course it was a cold coming on. My baby has been sick. I’ve had her pacifier in my own mouth. I’ve kissed her cheeks that have been covered in her drool and her snot. I’ve given her eskimo kisses with my nose as she coughs directly into my face. How was I not going to get sick?
The thing is, I’m normally a huge baby when I don’t feel well. If I have so much as a stuffy nose, the world basically stops spinning and I complain nonstop until it goes away. I stay home from work and I Facebook several times a day about how crappy I feel. When it comes to being sick, I’m a bigger baby than even my baby is.
Yesterday, E was in rough shape so I kept her home from day care. By then, that tickle in my throat had worsened into a full-blown sore throat that had me eating ice cream at 6 a.m. while E was still sleeping. I could feel my sinuses filling up with mucus and my energy level was at an all-time low after not sleeping well. Normally this is when I collapse on to the couch and begin my ritual of moaning and groaning. But I didn’t do that yesterday. In fact, I was so busy worrying about E and trying to make her feel better that I only noticed how crappy I truly felt after B got home from work and took her from me. Only then did I allow myself to admit that I felt like cow manure, and even then I simply thought, Oh well, I’ve got momming to do. I’ll have to be sick later.
It’s amazing how easy it is to put your own needs aside when you’re a parent. I mean, I don’t even think twice about it. I look back at my old self who used to be such a baby when I was sick, and I think, E doesn’t need that. That doesn’t do her any good.
Little E is still sick, and I’m still sick, and even daddy is sick. Today B is staying home with her while I drag myself to work, and because E won’t be relying on me, I’ll probably gripe to my coworkers about how shitty I feel. Then I’ll come home, put on my “I’m not sick” face, and be the best mama I can be for E.