Sick in Bed: Mother of a Toddler Edition

It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. Dickens got that much of it right. Mothering, as it as often been said, is a full-time job without sick days, holidays, or paydays. However, now that E is old enough to entertain himself and be entertained by activities that don't require my constant and undivided attention, sick days at home with a toddler are tolerable.

Enjoying a well-earned rest.

Our mornings when I'm sick tend to look like this. The Husband gets E up and feeds him breakfast before he goes to work. I slog around literally dragging my feet and stay in my pyjamas until nearly noon. I drink lots of hot drinks, eat whatever baked goods I've made myself this week (pumpkin muffins this time around...recipe to follow!), and keep the tissues close to hand. I also contrive to feel as sorry for myself as possible.

E generally doesn't mind this. He's independent enough now to run and scamper around the flat without my constant supervision. And when he's done exploring, he's more than happy to curl up in bed with his mummy and watch a few episodes of Sarah & Duck or Charlie and Lola...his two favourites at the moment.

It's a fifty-fifty toss up as to whether he takes his nap in bed with me or decides he wants to read some books in the chair in his room. If it's the latter, he sleeps in his crib. At least when this happens, I can make our bed before the day is too far spent, so I don't feel like such a waste of life. I tell you; the timely and efficient making of one's bed has a huge impact on morale when you're spending most of your day at home.

As much as I've ever enjoyed working in museums (which was a lot, by the way: I liked it a lot), I love having the leisure to spend a lazy morning in bed with my son if I need to. And boy did I need to this morning. I can dose up on pain killers, swill indecent amounts of herbal tea, and eat pumpkin muffins like they're going out of style. Sure, no amount of sugary goodness, no number of fluffy pillows, and no slew of cartoons - however cute - really detract from the fact that my throat burns, my head aches, my nose drips, and I generally feel like death warmed over. But in spite of all the yuckiness, I can relax. I can enjoy lounging in bed while E tries to say things like 'car keys', or waves goodbye to his daddy, or uses an old wrapping paper tube like a vuvuzela.

And now that I have a sleeping toddler once again, it's time to get back to some book reading, nose blowing, and tea drinking. My son may be down for the count, but Bill Bryson can be my comfort for the next few hours.

Loving this book right now. via, Bill Bryson