Tired Mom Diary – Chapter 7 – The Bathroom
Nora got sick on Monday.
Not a hospital sick.
School sick.
The kind where she’s too sick to go to school but perfectly healthy enough to ask for snacks every eleven minutes.
At 6:40 a.m., she had a fever.
At 7:15, she was dying.
At 8:03, she wanted pancakes.
Children recover quickly when breakfast is involved.
“I’ll stay home,” Ben said.
I looked at him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You have that meeting.”
“I’ll move it.”
“She needs Tylenol if the fever comes back.”
“I know.”
“And she won’t eat soup unless -“
“I know.”
He kissed me.
“Go to work.”
So I went.
After leaving a one-page document on the kitchen counter.
NORA – SICK DAY
Medication instructions.
Food options.
Emergency contacts.
Where the thermometer is.
Where the extra sheets are.
Ben took a picture of it.
“Is this a care plan or am I adopting her?”
I laughed.
A little.
At 10:22, I texted.
How is she?
Good.
Fever?
Gone.
Eating?
Yep.
What?
Pancakes.
Of course.
At 12:16, he sent a photo.
Nora was on the couch under a blanket, eating crackers, watching cartoons.
The dog was beside her.
She looked like a tiny retired millionaire.
I zoomed in.
She wasn’t wearing socks.
Put socks on her.
Why?
I stared at the screen.
Because she’s sick.
Because the floor is cold.
Because I’m her mother.
I typed:
Never mind.
Then I spent eleven minutes thinking about socks.
At 3:30, I got home.
Nora was alive.
The house was standing.
Nobody had called an ambulance.
Ben had made dinner.
“How was she?” I asked.
“Fine.”
“Did she nap?”
“Yep.”
“How long?”
“About an hour.”
“Did she drink enough?”
“Yes.”
“Did you check her temperature?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use the instructions?”
He looked at the paper on the counter.
“What instructions?”
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
“The ones I wrote.”
“Oh. No. We were fine.”
I spent twenty minutes writing that document.
He hadn’t read it.
And somehow, everyone survived.
I found this offensive.
Tuesday, Nora was back at school.
I was in the bathroom at work.
Not using it.
Sitting on the closed toilet lid.
The door was locked.
Nobody was asking me anything.
I googled:
How long do people stay in hospital after minor surgery?
Then:
Can you stay in hospital overnight for exhaustion?
Then:
Hotels with room service near me.
I closed the browser.
Went back to my desk.
Answered six emails.
Apparently, I didn’t need a vacation.
I needed a room with a lock and someone bringing me food.
Wednesday night, I was in the shower.
“Mom?”
I closed my eyes.
“WHAT?”
“WHERE’S MY PINK PAJAMAS?”
“ASK DAD!”
A pause.
“DAD SAYS THEY’RE IN THE DRYER!”
“THEN THEY’RE IN THE DRYER!”
Another pause.
“MOM?”
“WHAT?”
“CAN YOU GET THEM?”
I looked at the shampoo bottle.
It said REPAIR AND RESTORE.
I considered drinking it.
I turned off the water.
Wrapped myself in a towel.
Opened the door.
The dryer was six feet from where Ben was standing.
I got the pajamas.
Handed them to Nora.
She said, “Thanks, Mommy.”
I went back to the shower.
The water was cold.
Of course it was.
THINGS I WOULD LIKE FOR CHRISTMAS
A bathroom door that locks.
A bathroom door that stays locked.
A hotel room.
A second hotel room in case someone finds the first one.
A week where nobody asks me where something is while standing next to it.
Friday night, Ben found the sick-day instructions in the recycling.
He held up the paper.
“You really wrote all this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she was sick.”
“I know she was sick. I was here.”
“I was trying to help.”
He looked at the paper.
Then at me.
“You know I can take care of our daughter, right?”
“Of course.”
“Then why do you keep leaving me instructions?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t have an answer I liked.
He put the paper down.
“Next time, just let me do it.”
I nodded.
He went upstairs.
I stood in the kitchen, looking at the document.
Then I picked it up.
Folded it.
Put it in the drawer with the school forms.
Just in case.