Mom Flu

Early on, in my blogging days, I wrote a piece about Man Flu. In the past couple of days, I’ve (unfortunately) been inspired to write about another illness – “Mom Flu.” Let me tell ya, it AIN’T pretty. I woke up with my husband that fateful morning, somewhere around 3AM. While preparing his lunch, I started to feel really nauseous. I knew it had nothing to do with handling food in the middle of the freakin’ night. I actually like a good ham sandwich, every now and again, so I wasn’t bothered by the smell or anything of the sort…. but I do object to watching said sandwich dance across the countertop! It certainly made hitting the bread with the queasy… sorry… squeezy mustard a bit like target practice. I diligently kept at it, trying to ignore my stomach, but it clearly had other ideas. It decided to team up with my head. Did you ever play that little game as a child where you had to pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time?? Well, without my permission, someone or something was hitting my head with a brick while simultaneously rubbing my stomach with a floor buffer! I’m sort of stubborn (wait! listen! did you just hear a couple of girls scream, “SORT OF?!?!?!”). Anyway… refusing to acknowledge Ms. Brick and Mr. Floor Buffer, I decided that my whole problem could be resolved by one simple miracle cure: ginger ale. I mean, didn’t Mom, Grandma, and every other female in the family ALWAYS start pouring ginger ale the moment someone so much as sniffled? Thinking it wise to hold on to the edge of the counter… since the damn thing seemed determined to swim right through to the diningroom… I called out to my husband to bring me the soda bottle. Unwisely, he started to question my early morning choice of beverage. Poor soul. After firmly reattaching his head, he not only brought the bottle but got me ice and poured my drink. He must have been in the middle of something when I called because he sure left the room quickly. Taking “tiny sips,” per the Family Females Rule Book, I managed to get the lunch bag packed. As I passed my husband in the hallway, I muttered something about needing to lay down... LIKE RIGHT NOW. If he hadn’t stepped out of my way, I would have blindly walked over him or plunked myself down on the floor. I think I might have said goodbye. Propping myself up on both his pillow and mine, I resurrected my Lamaze breathing techniques, praying to my internal organs to stay put. I’m a Mom. I can’t be sick. I had to get up again in only three hours to wake the girls and get them out the door for school. Blissfully, I slept. Less blissfully, I was awakened by a blinding punch in the stomach. Thinking that was a REALLY horrible thing to do to a sleeping mother, I started to sit up. OH HELL NO. That wasn’t happening. I started to quickly take inventory of what my body had decided to do to me… burning abdomen, throbbing headache, and …hold on! … why in the WORLD was my dresser dancing around like the armoire in “Beauty and the Beast”???? That just couldn’t be good. I lay back down, thinking this ridiculous little production needed to be concluded before 6AM. I’m on a schedule dammit! I lifted my head to focus on the clock radio… CRAP! 5:53AM!!! I had exactly seven minutes to make a full recovery. That seemed reasonable in “Mom time.” Then, the unthinkable happened. I don’t know how I got there but I literally flew to the bathroom with a serious case of what I’ve dubbed “HugorSititis.” If you are unfamiliar with this ailment, you’re one of the lucky ones. HugorSititis is the panic-inducing condition of not knowing whether to get on your knees and hug the porcelain goddess or to sit yourself right down on her head. I grabbed a bottle of Pepto® on the way down and could only hope I had made the right choice. I poured myself a dose of that lovely, disturbingly thick, pink liquid and couldn’t help but wonder if I would be doing just as well with Ipecac Syrup! Taking “tiny sips” (hey, if it keeps the ginger ale down…...) I managed to swallow it all. By this time, six of my seven allotted sick minutes had expired. I was doomed! Running (as best as one can run when your brain thinks your skull makes a NEAT hula hoop) and aiming for the general vicinity of my bed, I called out to the closest daughter that she needed to wake up. “Mom’s really sick and I need your help.” To her credit, she was up so quick you’d have thought someone lit a firecracker under her Winnie the Pooh clad behind. From the pillow, I did the only thing I could do… I became Maniacal Mom! If only I’d had a groovy costume. Looking back on it now, I wish someone had filmed us. We must have looked like Laurel and Hardy… uh… and Hardy. The girls were running in all directions, bumping into each other, trying frantically to keep up with all the orders I was barking. “Eat your cereal!” “Put the dishes in the dishwasher!” “Pull out the food I made for your lunches… you’re going to have to pack your own!” “I NEED TO BE BETTER NOW!” “For heaven’s sake, get washed and dressed!” “Oh! and I need my laptop!” That’s the thing about Mom Flu. Most of us refuse to accept it. Moms don’t know HOW to be sick and we plain don’t have the TIME to be sick. Some aren’t “allowed” to be sick. Others are given 3.4632 hours and then a full recovery – and dinner – must be made. It really depends on the rest of the family. I’m lucky that way - the girls got out the door right on time, lunch bags full and, since I work from home, I was able to drag myself up high enough in bed to see my monitor. When my husband got home from work, he brought cans of chicken soup and heated some up for me. I admit it – I suck at Mom Flu. I’m thankful that my recent episode only lasted about a day and a half. Prior to that, the last one that I can recall was about 8 years ago. I guess I can live with that. Gives me plenty of time to sew me a costume!