I miss sick days, I tell myself, as I pile more shredded cheese in front of my toddler, who is demanding ‘cheese’ and ‘Pat’ on repeat (we’re big into our Postman Pat era). Usually, my parenting has more backbone, but I am sick, my husband is sick, the toddler is sick AND teething and it’s all too much.
I dream about when sick days didn’t mean trading off whose turn it was to nap and whose turn it was to entertain a little girl full of energy, who had to be contained to a tiny townhouse as her nose was producing mucus faster than we could wipe it. When sleeping off a cold didn’t come with the guilt of knowing the toddler had probably well exceeded her reasonable screen time limit for the day even before her nap.
In my tired and ill brain fog, those carefree days seem so easy. Then I pull myself back to reality and laugh. If I wasn’t so exhausted, I would remember what sick days before a toddler actually looked like.
In my teaching days, a sick day meant sitting in bed with my laptop at 5am typing up a lesson plan, emailing and calling everyone relevant and stressing about whatever disaster I would return to once I was well. As a uni student, I pushed through sickness to meet deadlines and submit assignments. As a nanny I couldn’t work while sick, but the financial hit of missing even a shift or two was brutal when I had no sick pay. Sick days were never carefree, then or now.
It’s true that sick days are different with a toddler. There’s no laying in bed streaming mindless tv, or the option to just stop cooking and live off snacks. But for me at least, I also don’t have to send any emails at 5am anymore, or worry about how much sick leave balance I have left. It’s annoying and inconvenient to cancel plans and rearrange things. It’s tedious being at home for so long, but I also get to enjoy curling up on the couch in my toddler’s room as she brings me story after story, while saying her new favourite phrase, ‘more book!’
What I really miss, I realise, is being a child on a sick day. TV and blankets and snacks on demand. Basically, I want to swap places with my toddler. But there is beauty in being the adult as well. The one providing cuddles and blankets and stories on the couch. And when I need to, I can tap out and ask my husband to take over this rendition of ‘row, row, row your boat.’
It’s impossible to always run at 100% capacity, and it’s impossible to be the responsible one 100% of the time. I know I am lucky in having a husband who is a true partner in all things, so I don’t have to. I can have my moments of being sick in bed under the covers. And I can take my turn with the overtired, stir-crazy toddler so he can rest as well. And soon enough, we’ll be well and back at full capacity again.