Moms Don’t Get Sick Days

It’s been a few days since I’ve posted anything here.

Honestly, I’ve been pretty sick and completely under the weather. I’ve lost my voice, I sound absolutely horrible, and my body is very clearly telling me that it needs rest.

But motherhood doesn’t exactly come with sick days.

Parenthood in general doesn’t.

If you are an involved mom or dad, you know exactly what I mean. There is no calling out. There is no putting up an out-of-office message and crawling into bed until you feel human again.

You just keep going.

You push through.

You make the lunches. You get everyone dressed. You give the medicine. You wipe the noses. You load everyone into the car. You do drop-offs and pick-ups and baths and dinner and bedtime.

And somewhere in between all of that, you try to remember that you are sick too.

Since my mom’s accident, our entire routine has changed. Before her accident, my kids had never been in daycare. My mom watched them for me while I worked.

Then, suddenly, daycare became our reality.

And if you have ever put kids in daycare for the first time, you already know where this is going.

They are sick. All. The. Time.

One thing after another.

And because they are sick so often, I have used just about every bit of time off that I possibly can.

So when I get sick?

I go to work.

Not because I think I deserve some kind of award for pushing through. Not because I think people should go to work sick.

I go because I have to save whatever time I have for my children.

Because if my son gets sick, I need to be able to get him.

If my daughter gets sick, I need to be able to get her.

If one of them needs me, there isn’t a question about who is going to show up.

I am.

Yesterday, I went to work because I had things that needed to get done.

At this point, I had pretty much lost my voice. There was absolutely no hiding the fact that I was sick. My director heard me talking and finally said, “You need to go home. Just go home.”

And I thought…

Okay.

Maybe I actually will.

Maybe I will go home, crawl into bed, close my eyes, and let my body rest for a little while.

So I went home.

I got myself settled.

I laid down.

And about an hour later, it was time to get back up and go pick my son up from therapy.

He hasn’t been feeling his best either, and because I was home, I wasn’t going to send him to daycare afterward when he wasn’t feeling good.

So I picked up my son.

Then I went and picked up my daughter.

Then we went home.

And there went my sick day. 😂

Because once all three of us walked through that door, there was no more lying down.

The kids were nonstop.

They needed snacks. They needed drinks. They needed attention. They needed Mom.

And when the kids are going nonstop, that means Mom is going nonstop too.

So much for resting. 😂

The joys of parenthood.

If you know, you know.

And this morning, as I was driving back into work, still sick and completely exhausted, I caught myself thinking about how incredibly nice it would feel to just close my eyes and take a nap.

Not a vacation.

Not a spa day.

Not some elaborate getaway.

Just sleep.

A quiet room.

A blanket.

And a few hours where nobody needs anything from me.

Sometimes I think that is one of the hardest parts of being a parent that people don’t really talk about.

You don’t always get the chance to recover.

Your body can be begging you to stop, but life doesn’t necessarily stop with it.

There are still children who need breakfast.

There are still therapies.

There are still medications.

There are still appointments.

There are still jobs and bills and responsibilities.

There are still little people who don’t understand that Mom feels terrible today.

So you keep going.

And sometimes, that is exhausting.

I am tired today.

Really tired.

But as I was driving this morning, I also thought about something else.

Even when life feels incredibly hard, there is still beauty here.

Sometimes we just have to look a little harder for it.

There is beauty in the little voice calling for you—even when you desperately want five minutes of silence.

For me, that one carries a little more weight.

My daughter can call out, “Mommy!” from another room, and there are absolutely moments when I am exhausted and think, Lord, can Mom have just five minutes? 😂

But then I remember what a gift it is that I can hear her call for me.

Because I am also the mother of a nonverbal child.

I know what it feels like to long to hear your child say your name. To wonder what their voice would sound like calling, “Mommy.” To imagine hearing them call for you from another room—not because something is wrong, not because you have learned to recognize a certain sound or cry, but simply because they want their mom.

I long for that with my son.

I would give anything to hear him call out, “Mommy,” and know that he is calling specifically for me.

And I know I am not alone in that longing.

There are so many parents raising nonverbal children who understand exactly what I mean. Parents who would give anything to hear “Mommy” or “Daddy.” Parents who have imagined their child’s voice a thousand times. Parents who celebrate sounds, gestures, AAC buttons, signs, eye contact, or whatever way their child has found to say, I need you. I want you. I love you. You’re my person.

My son communicates with me in his own ways, and I have learned to listen to a language that doesn’t always require words.

I know when he wants me.

I know when he needs me.

I know his sounds, his movements, his expressions, and the ways he reaches for connection.

But I would be lying if I said I don’t still ache to hear that one word.

Mommy.

So when my daughter calls for me for what feels like the hundredth time that day, sometimes I have to remind my exhausted self:

Listen to her.

Because somewhere inside the noise that can feel overwhelming is something I have prayed to hear from her brother.

That doesn’t mean I can’t be overstimulated.

It doesn’t mean I don’t desperately need quiet sometimes.

It just means two things can be true at once.

I can desperately need five minutes of silence…

and still recognize how beautiful it is to hear my daughter call me Mommy.

And maybe that is exactly what I mean when I say there is still beauty here.

There is beauty in the tiny hand reaching for yours.

There is beauty in bringing your sick child home because you know that home, with you, is exactly where they need to be.

There is beauty in walking through the door exhausted and still being the person your children look for.

There is beauty in the ordinary moments we don’t always recognize as beautiful while we’re living them.

And I don’t say any of that to make the exhaustion sound pretty.

Because some days are just hard.

Some days I don’t want to find the lesson.

Some days I don’t want someone to tell me to “look on the bright side.”

Sometimes I just want to admit:

I’m tired.

I’m sick.

I wish I could rest.

And all of that can be true while something else is true too.

I am tired…

and I am grateful.

I am struggling…

and I can still see beauty.

I can desperately need a break…

and still love this life and these little people more than anything in this world.

Maybe that is what this season of my life keeps teaching me.

Beauty doesn’t always replace the hard. Sometimes they exist right beside each other.

Maybe that’s what so much of motherhood is.

Holding two truths at the same time.

Wanting silence while being grateful for the little voice calling your name.

Wanting rest while knowing you’ll get up every single time your child needs you.

Feeling completely exhausted while somehow finding the strength to do it all again tomorrow.

Loving your children more than life itself while still admitting that sometimes this life is really, really hard.

So today, the show must go on.

And so must I.

I’ll keep pushing.

I’ll keep fighting the daily fight.

I’ll put a smile on my face when I can—and give myself permission not to when I can’t.

And somewhere in the middle of the exhaustion, the coughing, the daycare germs, the therapy pickups, the workdays, and all the responsibilities waiting for me…

I’m going to keep looking for the beauty.

Because somehow, even here, it is still there.

Thank you for spending a few moments here with me.

Until next time…

Keep finding beauty, honesty, and hope—even on the hardest days.

With love,

The Honest Autism Mom

🌿