All sarcasm and snarky-ness aside, I do love my family. My husband is a great guy, and my children are the loves of my life. Our family was hard-won. Without going into gory details about shots and hanky-panky schedules and invasive exams, suffice it to say that having children for us was significantly more involved than opening a bottle of wine and queuing up Barry White on the iPod. I say this to be clear – I love my family and don’t regret for one moment the husband or children I’ve been blessed with.

However . . . there are days. 

I’m currently losing the battle to a raging sinus infection brought on by allergic rhinitis (yeah, I don’t really know what that is, but I do know that it feels like my 43 pound 3 year old is standing on my face. I’d Google it, but that would cut into my wasting-precious-alone-moments-on-Facebook time). I have a fever and sinus pain and want nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there for about 13 days.

But I have small kids.

So, instead of crawling into my lovely bed and staying there until the world’s supply of Kleenex runs out, I get up at 5:30 to make my freakishly dawn-loving kids pancakes (frozen Eggo pancakes – I’m no hero) and start my day of running kids to camp and doing housework and fixing lunches and picking kids up at camp and mediating arguments and wishing that I could just take a 20 minute nap.

And I remember what my life was like B.K. (again, “before kids”).

When I was sick B.K., my only responsibility was to call my boss within a reasonable amount of time after the work day started and let him know that I wasn’t going to be in that day. I could call the deli on the first floor of my building in Manhattan, and they would deliver me the most delicious chicken soup. I could sleep all morning if I wanted to, watch Donahue (“Caller, what’s your question?” No, of course I never called in. And if one person asks me who Donahue was, I will shut down this blog. I swear I will!), and then take a nap. No one needed me, no one wanted to share the bathroom with me, no one whined at me.

But this is not B.K. It is A.K. ( for “After Kids,” pronounced “ack,” which sounds a lot like my cough). Some people say that when you’re a mom, you can’t get sick. That is not entirely true. You can get sick (see info re: raging sinus infection above). You just don’t get to act sick. No napping. No resting. No snuggling in your bed watching bad TV. And if you’re eating chicken soup, it better be shaped like Lightening McQueen or a Disney princess, because you’re going to have to share with the little raccoons you call children.

Rather than wallow in memories of my life B.K., and how much easier it was to be sick without children, I will suck it up. And hope with all of my being that no one else in this house gets sick. Not the kids. Not the cat. And especially not the husband, who (despite his many excellent qualities) turns into a squalling toddler at the first sign of the sniffles.

I don’t hope this because I’m a selfless person who would rather suffer all illness than see her family suffer.

I hope this because I’m a selfish person who doesn’t want or need extra whining in her life that a sick family brings. And so, rather than hope for health for myself, I hope for it for my family.

And for some soup.