Taking a sick day

In my line of work, sick days are something I sometimes secretly long for. The problem, of course, is that I'm generally as healthy as an ox, and other than a sad bout with H1N1 in 2009, I am almost never sick. Clearly I don't actually want to be sickly or unwell, but sometimes I wish I could just lie in bed all day and have someone fetch my meals and take care of the kids. Again, though, the only time that has ever happened is when I was nearly delirious with H1N1 or when I was recovering from a c-section. Not one of those occasions was remotely pleasant. So I guess what I really wish is that I could just lie in bed for a day, perfectly healthy, and do nothing but read and have someone fetch my food and take care of my kids. I'll have to work on that.

At any rate, our most recent sick day had nothing to do with me. The night after Christmas, Jonathan woke up in the night with a 102 degree fever which knocked him out for about 24 hours. I made up our traditional "sick bed" on the couch for him, and we all spent the day watching movies.


Clara was quick to sign up for a sympathetic sickness (such a good sister), so I made up a bed for her, even though she was perfectly healthy.


The biggest trick with Jonathan--in sickness and in health--is getting him to eat and drink enough. We tempted him with all sorts of delights, but he hardly ate a bite all day. Finally, for dinner, I spoon-fed him scrambled eggs on the couch while he watched another movie. I was happy that he ate at all, but Clara, sitting at the dinner table with Jeremy, far away from view of the TV, was really quite bitter. She spent the next two days trying to convince us that she was gravely ill and that nothing would speed her recovery faster than a light repast on the couch in front of a movie. When her machinations failed to get her what she wanted, she gave up, resigned to night after night of eating a normal dinner at the family table with no TV in sight.

Sometimes it really is hard to be healthy.