It had been a busy couple of months for me – I traveled to D.C. and Rome, GA with my son and Chicago with my daughter (blog post to come) and in between, a quick visit to Boca Raton to see my dear friend and my 100-year-old grandmother-in-law. Somewhere along the way, an evil little bug crept into my system, and by the time my plane landed after my last trip, I knew I was doomed.
The first day was a struggle, but not impossible. I was able to shower, run errands, drive my son to an activity, carry on a basic conversation and pick up 
dinner. The second day, however, was a descent into the black abyss. I ran a fever. My tummy hurt. I was sore and weak. I coughed my head off, thereby wetting my pants, over and over again. And then there was the frustration. I had committed to making handmade Chinese dumplings for one of my son’s classes. Plus he had some important deadlines he needed my help with. My daughter was in town for spring break and we were supposed to tour a school and go look at apartments. Not to mention I was planning an early birthday party for her, and then it was St. Patrick’s Day. And I always do something fun for the family for St. Patrick’s Day.
Dear Reader, I did none of it. My husband ran to the grocery store and found frozen PF Chang’s dumplings to heat up for the class. My son sat next to my sleeping body as I responded with grunts to his questions. My daughter went with my husband on the tour and with my sister-in-law to look at apartments. My sister was on call to throw the birthday party, but at zero hours I rallied and was able to get to the store. My husband then unloaded the groceries, cooked all the food, and cleaned up afterward. St. Patrick’s Day was Stouffer’s Creamed Chipped Beef over biscuits.
And through it all, I felt like a failure and a jerk. A failure that I couldn’t do my job to the best of my ability, and a jerk that others had to pick up the slack.
Since I am back in the saddle, I reflected on my “lost” week. Yes, I felt like doo-doo spread on a warm cracker. Yes, I missed some time and activities with my kids. But they, however, didn’t miss a beat. The dumplings got made, the information got gathered, and happy birthday got sung. No, it wasn’t how I envisioned it or would have normally done it, but it got done. A mother’s first question might be, “Does that mean I am replaceable?” And a mother’s friend’s answer would be, “No, that means you are supportable.”
Granted, it is super-helpful to have a partner. My husband kept the kids fed and the medicine flowing. Beyond him, however, I have a network of family and friends that I know would have answered the call in a heartbeat. And that doesn’t make me “less than.” That makes me lucky.
I hope to never get that sick again. I hope I am never in a position to need so much help again. But I can tell you with 100% certainty that if that day comes, I am going to let myself be helped. And maybe not feel so guilty about it.
Mamas, take good care of yourselves, and when you can’t, let someone else do it. The world will continue (of course not as smoothly ?) if you need a time out.
The first-born are born feeling guilty.