Work & Family
in the dark ages when I still had a full time job, I almost never called in sick. Half because I was paid hourly (no sick time) and missing a day of work could mean not being able to pay a bill that month and partly because working food service meant calling out would screw over all of your co-workers. I’m not saying I never did it. There was that time that my sciatica flared up so badly that the only way for me to not be in excruciating pain was to be lying laying fuck it I don’t remember which one is right flat on my back on the floor. Or when I got an intestinal parasite (which is not a euphemism for getting pregnant) and (TMI ALERT) pooped every time I went to the bathroom and wanted to die. Hell, when I was in my first trimester and everything made me feel nauseated, I still showed up for my 5 am opening shifts.
I guess it was good training for parenthood. I don’t get sick days.
That does not, however, mean that I wouldn’t appreciate a break (or a helping hand) when I’m having an off-health day. Today was one of those days. I’ve been getting a bit of a cold ever since Monday. It isn’t terrible and it certainly doesn’t even rank with this year’s Christmas Flu of DEATH but I have been
cursed blessed with a very active little girl. When I’m sick, the quickest road to recovery is laying lying fuck it lounging on the couch with a book and bad television and sleeping until I feel almost human again. I don’t have that luxury anymore. I’ve tried to just let her do her thing but somehow, Lorelei always finds something somewhere in the apartment that she should not be playing with (I don’t know how. I swear I’ve put everything away that could possibly be a problem and yet she still finds it) and I can’t get away with dozing on the couch.
Unfortunately, I don’t have family nearby. My parents (or in-laws or sister) don’t live right around the corner. I don’t have a built in support system for when I can’t deal. So, I call Brian. And that puts a lot of pressure on him.
I don’t know why I torture myself by calling and asking him to come home. Most of the time he can’t (not that he doesn’t have a million vacation days because newsflash he never takes time off) and it pisses me off. It pisses me off that I feel like he’s the only person I can call on to come help me and it pisses me off that he has to choose work. I want to say more, but I can’t. Let’s just say there are some serious double standards going on and he’s on the losing side of them.
I want to scream and stamp my foot. When he’s home with me he works and he gets as much (if not more) done here than he does when he’s at the office. Just for once, I want to call and say, “I’m sick, come home,” and not have to torture myself with guilt that he’ll get in trouble.
SO, I totally lost my train of thought from when I started writing this…so here’s a pretty picture: