. . . is being a sick Mommy. The Little Man is practicing sharing again in the form of sharing germs. He's sick. I'm sick. Sickness makes him crankier, but no slower. Sickness makes me cranky and virtually grind to a halt. But no! There is no halting! We must go go go! Do do do! Learn learn learn! (yes, he is virtually Seussian) So I drag my crabby, sick self around after him, Momomying.
You'd think that Mr. Me would clue in to this situation and, say, let me go to bed when I get home from work freely and happily. Or, gladly and with some show of concern take the night wakings, or get up with Sonny Jim at the crack of 6:45 when the "Get me out of prison!" wail goes off. You'd think. However, his attitude is more "Sucks to be you" and "Your sickness is not my problem". The guilt trip to pass out alone for 30 minutes after coming home from work last night should have earned enough frequent flyer miles for 5 free tickets.
I realize that Mommy Martyrdom is not attractive. Truly. However, in my mucus-addled state I'm having trouble finding the fine line between being a martyr and simplifying life by not causing and dealing with Spouse Pout.
Stay tuned for more editions. With 50% less whine!
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3 comments:
It does "Suck to be you" especially when you allow your husband and your child to push you around when your sick. I say go home gather supplies, go to the nearest guest room, post a sign on the door, and lock yourself in for the night. Bring a tv, a ear plugs, and a radio. You deserve rest especially when you have a husband that is not sick.
It sounds like your husband needs a serious wake up call to the tune of "grow up".
Wonder if these commenters are female?
Not to discount their points, but DAMN. Bitter, party of 1, your table awaits . . .
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