Last week, I did something to my neck. I woke up one morning sore as hell on one side. By the end of the day, I was having neck spasms equivalent to those horrible leg cramps you get in the middle of the night when you're pregnant.
Yeah, it hurt that bad.
Bad enough for me to take myself to the ER looking for a solution (okay, so my mommy drove me).
Three hours and two prescriptions later, I was back home having little relief. Regardless, I strapped on a Thermacare heat wrap and went about my business.
You see, I hate being sick or incapacitated in any way. And here's why:
Reasons #1, 2, 3, 4, and 5: My family. My kids really aren't old enough to take care of themselves yet. 7-year-old Knox can be very helpful when he knows Mommy or Daddy don't feel well (especially if you bribe him with a fiver). But the 9 year old is too much of a space cadet to attend to any task for any length of time, and the 5 and one year olds still need lots of attention. Then there's Hubby. The poor man can only do so much after working all day, you know?
Reason #6: The laundry. Last time I checked, the laundry pile wasn't getting any smaller. It was only multiplying like pet store bunnies right before Easter, and Hubby doesn't do laundry.
Reason #7: The mess in the kitchen. Yeah, that doesn't seem to take care of itself either. There must be something written in the male DNA that believes that the dishes are done if they are put in the sink and out of sight. Same with crumbs: if they are shoved far enough under the overhang of the cabinets, it's okay. Out of sight, out of mind, you know?
(Let me just interject a minute. Yes, I have heard the saying, "A clean house is the sign of a wasted life." But, I think that phrase was just made up by someone who hates cleaning her house and wants to make the rest of us look bad for cleaning ours rather than playing Candyland with our toddlers all day long. My mantra is "Organized house, organized mind." Sorry, but I get crabby when my house is a mess; and therefore, I yell at my family. That's just me. Judge all you want, but keep your sanctimommy comments to yourself. *See, pain makes me crabby.)
Reason #8: People need to eat. Including me. Hubby is actually super helpful in the kitchen, and he will cook quite often. But unless I want my family to have an all meat and dairy diet, I gotta get up and throw some veggies in the microwave.
Reason #9: The baby. There are times he just wants me. And I'm kind of a sucker for that.
Reason #10: I get bored. I have been constantly busy since 5:25 p.m. on December 31, 2003. Yes, it's nice to just lay around sometimes. But after a day of that, I start to go crazy. "Just laying around" is really not all it's cracked up to be.
Reason #11: I get depressed and crabby*: I don't like to be sick. I'm not used to it. Plus, I have been struggling for almost four years over whether Lexapro actually makes me a better mommy. And I really think it does. But when other outside influences are thrown in there, like being sick or miserable or in pain, it just makes me crabby and short with my family, and that depresses me. I don't need anything extra to make me snap at them.
Reason #12: I just have shit to do. And it's much easier if I can just do it myself. Amiright, moms?
The fact of the matter is, life doesn't stop just because Mommy is sick. In reality, I don't think Mommies are meant to get sick. I think it only happens when there is some blip in the space-time continuum that allows whatever is watching over mommy to fall through the cracks.
Or maybe it's when St. Anne, patron saint of mothers, has slipped out for a glass of wine. Who knows? All I know is that I hate getting sick. So that bitch better start watching my back - or in this case my neck - a little more closely.
Come back on Wednesday when I'll be at Her View From Home detailing my plans for feeling better. Hint: it involves acting more like a kid.