Updated: August 3, 2016
Originally Published: September 27, 2012
I currently find myself battling a chest infection—though it could just as easily be Pneumonia, TB, Bronchitis, or even the Bubonic Plague. As a self-employed mother of two, a trip to the doctor is about as likely as a unicorn sighting, so I’m resorting to self-medication while waiting for this to pass.
Last night, after a particularly vigorous coughing fit, I lay in bed reminiscing about my carefree days before motherhood. Back then, feeling under the weather was almost a luxury. A mild sniffle (often accompanied by a hangover) would lead me to don my best raspy voice and inform my boss that, while I was eager to work, I couldn’t risk spreading any germs. My boss would agree, and I would enjoy a guilt-free day off.
Ah, those were the days before remote work became the norm. I’d roll back into bed (remember that bliss?), sleep until noon, whip up a medicinal bacon sandwich, and binge-watch daytime TV—all without leaving my pajamas. Sometimes, my mom would surprise me with homemade chicken soup, or my then-boyfriend-now-husband would call from the pharmacy asking if I needed cough drops or soothing tissues. I find myself yearning for those sweet sick days!
Fast forward to now, and I’m left without anyone to call in sick to. Living in Spain, my mom’s comforting soup would likely arrive lukewarm and spilled. When I let her know I’m feeling poorly, she chuckles—not out of cruelty, but more in a “welcome to the mom club, I’ve been waiting for you” kind of way. After all, she has waited 30 years to see me experience the same trials I put her through. She always reminds me that as mothers, we can only be ‘ill’ while standing up. Sympathy? Not a chance. Concern? Forget it. True illness only gets your family’s attention when you’re on the brink of death—until then, save the dramatics.
My mom also pointed out that since I held a birthday party for my toddler just three days after giving birth to my second child, I’ve set the bar high for myself. My husband doesn’t seem too worried either. This morning, after my persistent coughing kept everyone awake (the neighbors must think we have a flock of disgruntled geese), he suggested I sleep in the spare room to avoid disturbing his upcoming busy day.
So here I am, pushing through. After a week of relentless coughing and wheezing, I discovered an old packet of antibiotics that Google assured me should help with a chest infection. I’ve also taken swigs from a bottle of dark, syrupy medicine that looks as if it came from an ancient apothecary. Neither seems to be working, but at least I’m making an effort!
Now entering my second week of sounding like a gravelly-voiced old man, I fantasize that my new husky tone is alluring. In reality, it just means I can’t hit the high notes in Disney songs—much to my kids’ relief. This afternoon, mid-coughing fit, I found myself on the phone with a client, my vegetables boiling over, and my three-year-old shouting from the bathroom that she was done.
As I hung up the phone, doubled over in the bathroom, tears streaming down my face, my five-year-old rushed in, concern etched on her face.
“Don’t worry,” I wheezed, gripping the towel rail for balance. “Mommy’s fine.”
“I know,” she replied. “I just want to know when dinner will be ready.”
And that, dear readers, is the essence of being a mom while under the weather.
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Summary
In this lighthearted yet relatable article, Emma Hart reflects on the challenges of being a sick mom while juggling the responsibilities of self-employment and caring for two young children. She recalls the carefree days of her youth when being sick offered a brief escape, contrasting it with her current reality where illness is met with little sympathy. The story highlights the resilience of mothers and the humor found in everyday chaos, all while providing links to helpful resources for family planning and fertility.