I am sick as a dog. I wonder where that expression comes from? My dog, to my knowledge, has never been sick. Though he does eat his own poop, so perhaps that’s what they meant? But I digress.

I am dripping with germs, green snot, chills, headachy, “sweating my balls off” sick. My husband is, of course, out of town so I am trying to make the best out of a horrible situation (i.e. feeling as sorry for myself as humanly possible). I want somebody to take care of me. My options are limited to a toddler, a moody preteen, and a nine-year-old who is adorable and also not the sharpest tool in the shed.

OK kids, I’m going to need you to man up. Just for 24 hours. I only have a few simple requests:

1 – I want to be spoon-fed chicken noodle soup. Airplane noises optional.

2 – I want someone to wipe my butt because…. Too. Much. Effort.

3 – I want water in one sippy cup and wine in another. I’m sick, not dead.

4 – Please write a note to my boss letting him know I am on my death bed and will not be able to work today. Kindly leave my wine drinking out of this memo.

5 – I would like someone to rub my back. Draw letters if you must.

6 – I want you to give me a bath. With bubbles. I’ll only make you wash my hair, but be warned, snarky preteen, roll your eyes one more time and this little bath will turn into an all-out spa day.

7 – I need someone to take my temperature as I am quite sure I am dying. WAIT… NOT THERE!!!

8 – I need you to bring me my meds. Please take care to hide them in yogurt and distract me while I swallow.

9 – Let me sit quietly and cry. Rub my head and tell me everything is going to be OK. Feel free to also tell me I’m pretty.

10 – I want to lie on the floor and be adorned in footed pajamas. I will likely flop around and cry. Please keep that in mind when considering effort level.

11 – I will need to be tucked into bed. Don’t feel like you need to sing me a lullaby, but I’ve always been partial to Baa Baa Black Sheep.

I really don’t think this is too much to ask. After everything I have done for you through the years, it’s time to give back.

This wouldn’t be considered a child labor sweatshop if it’s temporary, right?


Julie has a Masters degree in Psychology, which has proved useless in trying to understand her teenaged daughter. She has the attention span of a gnat, zero sense of direction and loses at least 3 things every day. Except for a minor situation at a county fair, her children are not on the short list of items she’s lost. She is extremely proud of this. You can find her writing on Facebook or Twitter. She has been published on the Washington Post, Babble, McSweeney’s, Scary Mommy, and Huffington Post, among others.

1 Comment

  1. Sucks to be sick, especially with unsympathetic kiddos around. What? Isn’t mom just here to serve me, take care of me? 🙂

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