Sick. Tired. But mostly sick.

It started with a few aches and pains. I thought I was feeling sore from carrying two children a half-mile back from the beach the previous day. (Impressive, yes?)
Day two, I felt a little lethargic. So I gave myself a blast of energy with a high-powered weightlifting session.
That was a mistake. By noon, I had fever. So did Husband. Plus he had a sinus infection and couldn’t breathe, and of course not breathing trumps fever-with-no-other-symptoms.
He rested. I went to the grocery, walked the dog, picked up the Pterodactyl from school, took him to karate, cooked dinner and bathed the kids.
Day three I felt decidedly worse. Day four, the fever broke and a convulsive cough appeared. Day five I went to the doctor. Bronchitis.
So I’ve spent five whole days wishing the hours away, desperate for the moment when the kids were all in bed so I can crawl into bed myself. It’s, for me, the most physically demanding aspect of motherhood -- going through the mommy motions when you know you should be only sleeping, drinking fluids and opening an occasional can of chicken soup.
When I had my hysterectomy a few years ago, I spent one night in the hospital. That next morning after surgery, the doctor came in to check on me. “You can go home as soon as you urinate,” he said.
“I can’t pee!” I nearly shouted. I suppose I said it with a little too much enthusiasm, but I really thought I could use another day of recovery. But then he started talking about sending me home with a catheter, so I focused all my attention on my peeing muscles and went home to “rest” with my 18-month-old son and 4-year-old daughter.
Then, like now, the most painful aspect isn’t really the physical discomfort, although I do think I’ve injured my shoulder coughing. It’s the knowledge that for an extended period of time, I don’t feel capable of being a good mom.
Now, I know you’re thinking -- wait. This is the woman who threatened to rip the legs off her son’s beloved Blue Puppy? She thinks she’s a good mom?
Well, let’s compromise with the fact that I’m the best mom I know how to be. And even on those endless days when the Diva won’t eat anything but bowtie noodles and the Tyrant sticks her stuffed dog’s head in my coffee and the Pterodactyl calls me a poopy weener butt-butt, even on those days we have moments of pure joy and hilarity, when little arms around my neck make all the stale Cheez-Its and laundry worthwhile.
But now, being sick, those moments seem lost and I miss them. I’m exhausted and my chest hurts; I’m short-tempered and in no mood to endure the normal antics of childhood.
The kids sense it, too. The Diva asks me if I’m better approximately every 15 minutes, even when she’s too engrossed in “iCarly” to hear me answer. The Tyrant was sent to the principal’s office. Yes, that’s right, my 2-year-old was sent to the principal’s office, the first of my children to achieve that disciplinary benchmark. She had thrown a block at a kid’s head (Have I mentioned her remarkable aim?), pushed another child, and generally acted like a miscreant all day. She bragged to me about it when she got home.
I don’t miss much about my days pre-mommyhood because though life is very different, I still get freedom in small doses.
Yet here’s something I long for: the luxury of just being sick when I’m sick. I don’t want to act happy to see anybody. I don’t want to talk to someone about a playdate. I don’t want to go over spelling words. I just want to watch television, sleep, and maybe take a bath.
For me, it has been a relatively brief period of low-level misery. Now that I’m on antibiotics, I expect I’ll be back to my pleasantly cynical self soon, interspersing my yelling with affectionate hugs and kisses and making sure my children take gummi bear multi-vitamins in between their Happy Meals.
But I find myself thinking of what it’s like for the mothers with no relief in sight - for the women who suffer chronic illnesses or battle disease while trying to be the familial guiding lights, and often succeeding. I find it astounding, frankly. I’m a healthy, strong woman, but when I think of the pity I gave myself over a little bout of bronchitis, I must tell you: I feel a little bit.....weak.