About this iReport
  • Not verified by CNN

  • Click to view Momaical's profile
    Posted January 10, 2013 by
    San Francisco, California
    This iReport is part of an assignment:
    Surviving the flu

    More from Momaical

    The Great Flunami of 2013

    For the past week I have been knocked on my ass by the flu. This is the first time in 20 years that I have been so sick that I have been too weak to get out of bed. I rarely get sick; I don't have time for it. Colds, meh. Can't be bothered. I laughed in the face of the flu. But, it appears that the flu had the last laugh. And laugh it did. All over my ass.

    While sequestered on your king size death bed, you begin to allow all parenting values to drown in the gallons of phlegm that you are harvesting in your lungs. Parenting standards are tossed into the garbage can with a fucktillion used Kleenex, enough Vitamin C drop wrappers to ensure no one in your next 75 generations will get scurvy, and your coughed up uterus.

    Your quest to remain steadfast in your parenting while ill starts off valiantly, but gains speed as it rolls down the hill of laundry that's building up, dishes that need to be washed and toys that need to be put away. Before you know it, your household is spiraling out of control and you're too weak to care.

    Day 1: You're still new into this flu thing - it's probably just a bad cold. You think you just need ONE day of downtime to kick it out of your system. Thank goodness the husband is home to help.
    •Yes you can snuggle with me for a few minutes but then you need to go outside and play
    •No you can't bring food upstairs
    •No the dog can't come on the bed
    •Only a little tv
    •Yes, you can have a healthy snack
    •No you may not have candy
    •Emmeline, ONE outfit a day
    •No, Lena. I think you're too young for a sleep over at a friend's house
    •Pretend the pile of laundry is bunny hill to practice ski lessons

    Day 2: Wow. This is way worse than I thought. Ok, one more day and it will be over. Thank goodness the husband is home to help.
    •Ok, you can watch this movie with me - then outside for fresh air
    •You can have a FEW of my crackers - but please DON'T spill any crumbs on the bed!
    •The dog can come on the bed for a few minutes but I don't want him to get use to this
    •Ok, one piece of candy.
    •Yes, Emmeline, you can put on your gymnastics leotard.
    •No, Lena. I still think you're too young for a sleep over at a friend's house.
    •Play Donner Party with the kids and the laundry pile because they can't get to you from one side of the bed. Feed them funny bones and laugh at your sick sense of humor. Until you start to cough up your spleen.

    Day 3: You're weak, shaky and every inch of your body feels like it's gone through a wood chipper. Actually, you wish it had, because that would be better than what is going on now. Glad the husband is home but wish he'd quit nagging you about which cough medicine to take and standing outside of the door of the bedroom and sighing really loudly. You feel guilty and try to go downstairs but almost fall because you are so lightheaded. You call for help but this triggers a coughing fit. You spit out a piece of your small intestine - which is fine because you're not using it anyway.
    •Sure, climb in. There's plenty of room. I'm about to watch a Duck Dynasty marathon.
    •Popcorn? Sure. Bring a dust buster with you.
    •The dog has been here all day. Someone might want to take him outside.
    •Lena, doesn't anyone want you to sleep over?
    •Laundry pile = Mt Everest and climbing is in order. Thankfully Emmeline is wearing everything she owns to brave the elements.

    Day 4: You get out of bed because you have overstayed your welcome by 3.75 days. Your husband is making snarky comments about how you're "sick". Decide to ignore snark and stay in bed. Don't you have some work to do, fucker?
    •You coming up? Cool. Can you bring some animal crackers, peanut butter, cheese and a gallon of OJ? Oh, and that bag of M&M's. We'll shake out the sheets later. Or not.
    •Yeah, husband, you're going to want to set up the couch. The dog has taken over your side.
    •Is Lena home? Oh. Can we pick her up some time next week?
    •No vital organs are left to cough out. There is, however, urine. Copious amounts of urine. Thankfully the bed is full of crumbs to absorb the aftermath.
    •NASA has reported a sighting of your laundry pile during the latest space expedition.
    •Emmeline is "nakey awound" - as everything she owns is under examination by an astronaut. Naked, except for one of my thongs that she is wearing as an eye patch because "Me are a nakey piwate. Yook! Here are my piwate pawts!" Argh. No one needs to see your "pirate parts," naked pirate. Thankyouverymuch.

    Day 5: Emmeline gets sick because she has been quarantined by default with you, since she can't spend 37 seconds not up your ass sideways. Time to get over coughing, put on your big girl underpants (and one of Emmeline's night time pull ups because you're still golden showering the carpet) and face your nemesis: laundry. And, you decide to go back to bed to snuggle with your sick pumpkin. Because laundry can wait. Or can it....

    If you don't hear from me, you'll know the answer.

    Add your Story Add your Story