One of the best things was being allowed to go into my parents' bed for part of the day. No idea why, but this really felt like a big deal and was reserved for occasions of sickness. I remember feeling very important and special in what seemed like an enormous bed. The other really great thing was a duvet on the couch. If you were lucky, a double duvet folded over, so you were lying both on and under it. Mmmmmm... the sense of comfort from that should be bottled!
And I would extend that sense of comfort into the deeply uncomfortable arena of throwing up. It's horrible - the way it takes over your body and, just, yuck. But when your Mum is rubbing your back and murmuring soothing phrases, you know you will be ok. I had a French teacher who used to encourage us as we spoke French in exactly the same tone my Mum used when we were being sick. I always felt a bit nauseous in his classroom...
Then there is the paraphernalia: medicines, dry crackers or biscuits and of course flat 7Up. Nobody ever recovered properly from anything without flat 7Up. And books that you had already read before so you didn't have to think too much. And tv: Anne of Green Gables or Mary Poppins (but not too loud for the singing).
I am of course not talking about hospital sickness here, which is a whole other scenario. But the childhood flus and bugs, which prevented you from going to school and presumably prevented your Mum from doing much of anything, although she was gracious enough not to let on. As a child, I almost revelled in the whole experience - you were allowed to ask for almost anything to eat, drink or watch and the chances of being told no were severely reduced. My husband has a very different experience of childhood sickness. Not that my mum allowed me to be a hypochondriac, but his mum was just not having any of it. Unless there were broken limbs or blood coming out of his ears, he was going to school... Consequently, he is rubbish at being unwell himself. Following surgery, I looked after him while he recuperated and he was totally uninitiated in the art of the couch duvet. There is a knack to the placement of the pillows, the proximity to the coffee table has to be judged carefully and there is of course the all important 'socks or no socks' debate. All of this was foreign territory to him and I was happy to educate him...
Now it is my turn to be the Mum who looks after sick kids. Today, my younger son has a nasty tummy bug. Although of course my heart breaks for him, a tiny part of me loves suddenly being needed so much again. It goes so fast and we are so proud of every milestone. But each of those means more independence and less direct interaction with me! But today, even though his little woebegone pale face was very tragic indeed, I was secretly delighted at all the extra cuddles I was getting. And, yes, I now get to hold the sick bucket and make the soothing noises. It is strangely un-gross - it just goes with the territory and I don't mind it at all.
Of course this is all very well for me. I don't work regular hours outside the home and am in charge of my own schedule. In the recent times I worked in office jobs, I was very fortunate that both kids were relatively healthy, apart from a dose of chicken pox. But today, all I had to worry about was getting the oldest guy a lift to and from football camp. No drama, no stress really.
How different for working Mums. And I say Mums here rather than parents. I think there is a real urge within a very young child for Mummy when they are sick. With the greatest respect to all Dads everywhere, Mummies are just better at sorting out the duvet on the couch. But when the same Mummy is due in 5 meetings that day, it's a different story. It's a monumental juggling act, loaded with guilt on all sides. Whatever she does on a day her child is sick, she will be left feeling that she is letting someone down.
A friend had a sick child just this week, on the day she was due to have an important job assessment talk with a manager. It was just so typical that this was the day there was a sick child in the house. Next thing, the manager sent a mail: his Mum had died and he was cancelling. My friend was delighted! And then horrified at her reaction! And then just relieved and probably a bit guilty - there always has to be guilt...
My heart goes out to working Mums as they juggle so much to begin with - housework, laundry, shopping, cooking, childcare and the job itself. Adding a sick kid to the mix is just too much and can send the whole dynamic out of whack for the family. The pressure is enormous and sometimes simply having an understanding employer will make the difference. That is, of course, not a given. Laws about time off for sick kids vary tremendously and it can be a minefield to have to negotiate your rights. As I understand it, in the States, some parents risk job loss or the docking of pay if they have to mind sick kids. Grandparents and aunties can help out, but only if they are around to begin with and even then only if the child is well enough to have anyone but Mummy.This is perhaps one area where equality is a bit of a flawed concept. It's great that woman can and do work of course, but kids need their Mummies when they are sick and perhaps employers should allow for this. But then you can see where employers would avoid employing women of a certain age (where they are not already doing so), and the whole thing gets a bit murky.
There is no obvious solution here - each family just muddles through and keeps their kids as healthy as possible. Having recently seen a family close to me go through two weeks of stress around this issue, I wish I could be a fairy godmother and swoop in to help with this kind of situation. Maybe that's what all families need!
Meanwhile, I need to go and wake my poorly bunny and hope the sleep has done him well. Think it's time for Toy Story, watched from the vantage point of a duvet nest on the couch - prepared by an expert! Now where did I leave that 7Up?
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