Life Love and Hiccups
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Monday, 29 August 2016

Martyrs Don't Take Sick Leave

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 Us mums can tend to be a little bit martyrish when we are sick don't you think?

We shove tissues up our nostrils when our noses won't stop running, we pop a couple of Panadol and gargle some hot Lemsip and we slap on some hand sanitiser before we set about dutifully packing those school lunch boxes, finding the missing shoe, the AWOL readers, signing some notes and corralling the herd into the car for school drop off.

When we get back, we then grab our puke bowls, a wet flannie, our laptops and our to do lists and we return to our beds or our couches for a few hours of rest (work semi disguised as rest because we are in bed or on the couch after all) before we have to pull our shit together in time for school pick up.

Except when we don't.

Like today, I literally woke up and felt like I had spent the night riding ten foot waves on a blow up mattress and no matter how still I tried to keep myself, the world would NOT . STOP . SPINNING.

The husband came in to give me my wake up coffee and kiss me goodbye, as per his usual early morning leave for work ritual, and normally I would grunt my goodbye, tell him I love him and call out "be careful" right before I hear the front door slam shut.

Except this morning I didn't.

This morning I was possessed by some kind of sea sick woozy demon and I couldn't help myself - I totally snapped at him when he look at me all concerned like and asked if I was OK.

"Sure, I'm OK... I'm sooooo OK, I'm just puke all over the car as I drive the kids to school kind of OK" I wailed into my pillow.

That is so unlike me.

The crying and feeling sorry for myself bit that is, sadly the early morning cranks is kind of A typical for me.

"Do you want me to call in and say I'm going to be late and take the kids to school for you?" he kindly asked.

I looked up at where he was standing over me like some kind of blessed angel who was sent to earth to save me from the clutches of death, but instead of saying "yes please my heaven sent angel, I would be so grateful if you could do that" I rolled my eyes and huffed and puffed before I made a dramatic show of trying to climb out of bed in a lost attempt to grab at my martyr crown.

But then the wooziness got the better off me and as my guts rumbled in protest I said "screw that, yes please" before closing my eyes and going back to sleep.

Why do we do that?

Why do we have to be all martyrish when we get sick?

Why do we perpetuate the unwritten rule that us mum are not "allowed" to get sick and instead just be sick for a little while, at least until we are almost not sick anymore.

I mean, we tell the kids to hop back into bed when they are unwell, we pat our partners on the arm and assure them that it's OK, we will take care of everything (insert melodramatic sigh here) until they feel better, but then we somehow we have gone and gotten it into our heads that we can't take a little bit of that medicine for ourselves when we are feeling less than human like.

Granted, not everyone has a support crew they can call on when they are sick. There may be no partners around to help them out or family close enough to call on for a hand... but maybe there are things we can do to cut ourselves some slack.

For example, why subject ourselves to the school lunch production when we are feeling like our heads are at risk of exploding? Why indeed when we can just send the kids to school with a DIY lunch bag that includes a loaf of bread, a slab of cheese, a tub of butter and a plastic butter knife... if they can't figure it all out then surely a teacher will take pity on them and give them a hand assembling a sandwich?

Stuff that missing school shoe people! Soccer boots and ballet shoes are just as supportive and practical as sensible leather lace ups.

As for those AWOL readers? Pfft, they'll turn up... eventually, along with all the odd socks and missing library books that disappeared back in 2001.

If all else fails and there is no possible way of us getting them to school, just keep them home, call it a PJ day and send them in with a sick note tomorrow that says "my child was away because his mother was sick and was SO OVER pretending to be a self professed martyr who can hold her shit together when she feels crappier than a pile of dung."

That oughta do it.

That was my back up plan if the husband didn't catch my award winning performance before he walked out the door this morning.

Bless him though... he did.

Do you give yourself sick days or do you soldier on because you feel you have to or there is no alternative?

Got any suggestions I can use to stop the world spinning that don't require me getting up and going to the Drs because I can't move off this couch. I just can't.