"I think I'm getting a cold," my husband said a few weeks ago as he opened his eyes. I rolled mine. Here we go. They are the six words every wife dreads hearing, because when your husband utters them, it means game over.
Although, admittedly I can hear it in his voice this time: He sounds stuffy and hoarse. He swings his legs over the side of his bed and grabs his phone.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Telling my boss I'm staying home," he replies honestly.
And just like that, he's up and off to relax on couch for the day.
Just. Like. That.
To his credit, he helped me get my son out the door and off to day care, but part of me just boiledwhen I thought about him sitting there all day.
I knew that his sick day would consist of bad TV, even worse video games, sleep, and the occasional slurp of soup. He'd rest without batting an eye.
When I get sick, I feel like I can't shut down. There is dinner to be made, and work projects due, and a kid to care for. If I stop, all of that stops, and then where would we be?
By the time I came back home, I found him exactly where I left him.
My husband, not picking up on my immediate irritation, gave me a big toothy grin and then fixated on our son. "Hey buddy!" he exclaimed, opening his arms wide for a big hug. He sounded a lot better actually.
"So, whatcha do today?" I asked, looking around the disheveled house.
"Took it easy," he answered. "What?" he asked, baffled by my twisted up face. "I was sick!"
The truth is I wasn't mad at him for being sick. I was jealous of him for taking a real sick day with absolutely no guilt.
"I know," I concede. "I just wish I could check out on sick days."
When I get a cold, I press on. I work my regular day, I throw in laundry, I make dinner. Nothing changes, except me, who feels like total crud by the end of the day. It's hard to articulate, but when I get sick, something in the back of my mind piles on the guilt. It's almost if I feel like I should have it all together. I convince myself that if I fall behind on my regular day-to-day stuff, I'll never get control of it again. And thoughts like "If I lay down on the couch after work instead of being on the floor playing with my son, will he think I don't want to spend time with him?" start to filter into my brain.
He looked at me dumbfounded. "Uh, you can," he said matter of factly.
My husband feels absolutely none of this guilt, evidently.
"Oh, and when is all the stuff we need to get done going to get done?" I retort.
"… when we feel better," he replied, slowly, as if he was responding with the most obvious answer to a very unintelligent human.
Before I sassed back I realized ... you know what? He's right.
Most things in the house and in life aren't going to fall apart if I'm not there.
You wouldn't tell a runner with a sprained knee to suck it up and keep running, would you? Why do we insist on pushing ourselves when our bodies are screaming that they need a break?
If you have the ability to call off from work, you should absolutely do it. And that mountain of laundry, those dirty dishes, those unmade beds… nothing bad is going to happen if they don't get done right away.
My colds always take a full week or two to go away. Why? Because I don't give myself the rest I deserve or need.
Taking a rest isn't selfish, it's necessary. When we get sick, our bodies are telling us it's time to slow down.
Although you never get to take a day off of parenting, the small things can wait. And I'll do you one bette: If you're partnered, that person can pick up the dang slack. This year, I'm going to make it a goal to listen and respond appropriately to my body's needs. And if that means calling off or hiding in the bedroom after work, then so be it.
From now on, I'm getting colds like a man, and you should too.
