Sick Days

Earlier this week, Jack and I shared a sick day.  He didn't feel good.  I didn't feel good.  We stayed home together.

For those of you without children, please HEED MY WORDS.  

Enjoy your sick days.  Enjoy them to the fullest.

I know that sounds like an oxymoron.  (Duh, if I'm sick, I'm not enjoying it.)  But you know what?  You are and you just don't know it.  Because when you are childless and home sick, you do things like sleep when you want, eat what you want, watch what you want, and lay comatose on the couch as long as you want.

You know what happens when you are home sick with a toddler?  You make breakfast, snacks, and lunches.  You get sippy cups with various beverages on demand.  You watch more Nick Junior than you would like on even a *well* day.  You get up to do things like change diapers, prepare meals (see above) and ensure that your child does not injure themselves, even a little.

Which led me to think that, in fact, it was Jack who was taking care of me the other day.  Because he drove the agenda for our day with a relentless pace.

First, we drew.

Yes, that is the blanket I was *trying* to be sick under.
It may or may not be a Wonder Woman blanket.

Then we drew some more, though we were just about to be distracted by Yo Gabba Gabba.  I was also distracted by that adorably chubby hand.

Also, please note that he's left-handed, LIKE HIS MOMMA.

Then we put all of his favorite things into the box.

Everybody, get in the box.  Dee Dah, you're in charge of what happens in the box.

Then, we took his favorite things out of the box.

That's enough of that, team.  Everybody, get out of the box.

You will note that our living room looked more and more like a toy store exploded in it as the day wore on.  This is a testament to my (futile but consistent) attempts to *relax* and not clean up in cycles, as I do on normal days, like weekends or whatever.  In truth, it probably took as much mental energy to stop myself from organizing and straightening as it did at the end of the day to clean up all the toys (with Jack's help, of course).  Whatever.  I tried.

We also counted to ten in English and Spanish.  We napped (twice).  We ate (me, a little; him, a lot).  We drank water and juice.  And as soon as Durel came home, I passed the parenting baton and promptly excused myself to go crash into the uninterrupted sleep that had eluded me all day.

And...you know you're a mom when even the day I've just described was actually fun, because you got to spend it with your Little Dude.

Here's hoping you contradict yourself (in a good way), this weekend.

Heather