Be Glad I’m Not Your Mom: Sick Toddler Edition

sick jonah
Yes, this IS as fun as it looks!

So, Jonah is sick with a bad cold. It is just that, a bad cold. Low fever, bad cough, lots of snot, nothing a doctor can do anything about. And what else does he have that a doctor can’t fix?

A mother who is super, super OVER IT. This is day 5, people. DAY FIVE. At the outset I can be super-cuddly-let-me-soothe-you-my-poor-baby Mom, but by now I’m like suck-it-up-and-quit-your-whining-a-cold-is-no-excuse-for-tyranny Mom. OH MY GOSH!!!!

Jonah is my kid who gets, pardon my French, SUPER-PISSED when he’s sick. My usually cheerful boy wakes up mad at the world and screams about anything and everything for the first hour or two of his day. Especially if one of the other two kids opens their mouths or approaches him. So this morning I’m like, at the end of my rope on DAY FIVE, yelling at the other kids to QUIT TALKING, because it makes Jonah mad. Yes, that’s right. The Snot King demands ABSOLUTE SILENCE. And he would also prefer that you don’t look at him. Avert. Your. Eyes.

Part of the reason my fuse is so short is because when something hangs on this long, worry sets in. Every coughing fit causes me great anxiety. Last night his temperature went up half a degree and I was mentally on my way to the emergency room. I try to push the panic aside as I forge ahead slathering Vicks (silver lining: I LOVE THE SMELL OF VICKS!) all over his chest, which makes him scream, which makes me irritable and shortens that ever-shrinking bit of nerve I’ve got left. Every time I take his temp or – God-forbid – give him medicine, I have to wrestle him into submission. It. Is. Exhausting.

His cough has woken him up, kept him up, and shortened his much-needed naps, which does nothing for either of our moods. And all of it, the lack of rest, the worry, the irritation, has made me pretty much non-functional in other areas.  My house is a wreck, I can barely write a coherent thought, and it takes a huge amount of effort to do the dishes or make a peanut butter sandwich or OH MY WORD, help the big kids with HOMEWORK. As a matter of fact, my head about explodes when the older two walk in from school. Meeting the demands of Angry Toddler while trying to meet the needs of the other kids almost undid me last night. My ability to multi-task is NIL at this point.

In addition, Jonah has missed his toddler speech class (you know, the one he hates but HAS to get used to before preschool??) for two weeks in a row because he also had a weird one-day fever last Tuesday, which is his class day. So that causes me stress as well. If he is not better for his regular speech therapy session tomorrow, you will find me standing on the edge of a bridge.

I know this is just a cold. I know it is not a big deal. I know it could be much worse.  I ALSO KNOW I CAN’T WAIT FOR IT TO BE GONE. I know I have lost most of a week. I know I miss my cheerful boy. I know it is going to be very difficult for me to wean him back off of TV. I know I am really, really, glad I bought a 2 Liter of Mountain Dew on my escapade to find homeopathic cough medicine last night. I know this too shall pass.

I also know you should be very glad I’m not YOUR mom.

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Be Glad I’m not Your Mom: early morning edition

coffee mug
I ripped this off from a friend’s FB page. A) I NEED IT and my birthday is in 13 days. MAKE IT SO. B) Don’t sue me. Because…something about blood from a stone. K?

I have decided to start a series called: Be Glad I’m Not Your Mom. I considered callng it “Be Glad I’m not You’re Mom” just to make Emily’s head explode, but the thought of someone thinking I don’t know the difference between your and you’re was too much to bear.

(Before I go on, I should note that this post is categorized under Being a Mom, I can’t sleep, and Jenny is a jerk. Wait, do I even need to WRITE the post now? Jonah is still asleep. I should just go back to bed. Ugghhh.)

I get up at 6:30 to help Bobby get the kids ready for school. Many of you get up much, much earlier than this. I could rephrase that to say, “I suck much more than most of you.” Truth be told, I am not that great at being a grown-up. I think I peaked at 18. Yes, the summer after graduation. I could sleep in, I was good at everything, my brain cells had not been plundered by childbirth, etc. etc. And even if I didn’t get the chance to sleep  in, I could still SLEEP.

Have I ever mentioned that I don’t sleep well? Oh, only 4,000 times in the last seven years? Just making sure.

I don’t sleep well. However, every morning at 6:30 I am having the best sleep of my life when it is time to wake up.

Which makes me the worst early-morning mom EVER. Because A) I don’t know how to program the coffee pot to make coffee the night before and I NEED COFFEE before anyone Hey Mom‘s me. And then there’s B) The kitchen is so small that if I get in Bobby’s way and try to make coffee while he’s getting the kids’ breakfast it causes severe marital problems so I wait for my coffee until he’s done and even then he makes it which is really nice and very good because I am also not real capable of operating the coffee maker until after I’ve had  my coffee. PROBLEMATIC.

But while I wait 15 minutes or so for coffee, Joshua and Sophie hey mom me about, hmm, well, I don’t know 700-900 times approximately (each) and I just want to scream STOPTALKINGSTOPTALKINGSTOPTALKING! Especially if what follows the hey mom includes anything about &#!@% POKEMON or TINKERBELL AND THE GREAT FAIRY RESCUE.

No Joshua, I don’t know where (insert unpronounceable Pokemon name here) is. No, I DON’T know why your Pokeball (SERIOUSLY? POKEBALL??!??!) is on Jonah’s table, but I think it MIGHT BE BECAUSE you have a TWO-YEAR-OLD BROTHER AND YOU LEAVE YOUR CRAP WHERE HE CAN GET IT.

Dear Sophie, I cannot listen to you recount the scene where Tink makes Lizzie fly (the one I’ve seen 683 times, BEE TEE DUBS) because you are supposed to be putting on your pants and when you TALK FOR 10 MINUTES while putting on your pants IT TAKES YOU 10 MINUTES TO PUT ON YOUR PANTS!!!!!!!!!! So shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

(Perhaps even worse than the talking is the pre-coffee hand-eye coordination required to do Sophie’s hair. No. Never mind. That’s actually not worse. The talking is worse.)

If I’m lucky I get a few sips of coffee in before I have to get all drill-sergeant on Sophie and regiment her every single step in order to get her out the door on time. Girl. Needs. Direction.

If Joshua is lucky, I get a few sips of coffee in before he gets his OCD on and asks me if I’ve signed his agenda which he brings home every night, which he watched me sign the day before. He still has to ask me every. single. morning. even though I breathe fire at him for nagging me and asking a question he already knows the answer to every. single. morning. Because, I LOVE TO BE NAGGED, especially BEFORE I’VE HAD MY COFFEE.

When 7:20 comes and they’re out the door, I’m typically warming up my partially-drunk, lukewarm cup and praying that I actually get an entire mug into my belly before Jonah wakes up. Because I’m trying to not psychologically damage him until he’s at least five years old. (One out three ain’t bad, right? Oh wait…)

My poor children. I’m all they’ve got. Aren’t you glad I’m not YOUR mom?

Are you Susie Sunshine in the morning (if so, I just hissed at you) or Moody Martha? I think I’m more of a Evil Emily.

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