Sorry, Mrs. Beeler, you have no sick days left

Well I must apologize to my three readers who have deprived of my witty repartee for the past month, but it seems I contracted a nasty case of pneumonia. I have never been so sick in my life. I don't recall many childhood illnesses, but it's safe to say this was the "sickest" I've ever been as an adult.
Being sick as an adult is very different than being sick as a child. Maybe it's more accurate to say that being sick as a parent is much different than being sick at any other stage in life. When I was a child I enjoyed being sick. That's right, I loved it. You must understand that being sick had many advantages. First, I did not have to go to school. School was boring and no fun at all, so being spared a few days of this drudgery was pure joy. Second, my mother waited on me hand and foot. No one knows how to take care of a sick child better than an Italian mother. (Thanks Mom!) She would bring the small black and white TV into my room and I could watch it all day. At this point in time we had only two TVs in the house (shocking!). I did not get one in my room until I was a teenager, so having the little black and white all to myself was bliss. As an added bonus, she brought me my meals in my room. Understand that in my house, this was a very big deal. My mother had (and still has) better hearing than a bloodhound and she could sense that food was being moved out of the designated eating zone (i.e., the kitchen). You could open that bag of Doritos without a sound, place them gingerly on a paper towel, and tiptoe to your room, all the time thinking your were safe. But, as soon as you cracked the door to your room, a voice would come from nowhere: "Are you eating in your room????" So, suffice it to say, eating in your room with permission was extraordinary.
The other wonderful thing about being sick was that my father always brought me a book. Picture books when I was little, but as I got older, I could count on a brand new hardcover Nancy Drew anytime I was ill. I loved Nancy Drew. In fact, every once in a while, I'll pick one up while Ava is in the library and read a little. These books were like gold to me. I loved all the stories of Nancy, girl detective; her beau Ned Nickerson; and her friends Bess and George (George was a girl, but somewhat man-like.) The mysteries always built to an engaging climax, and I could never read them fast enough. I don't know if girls read Nancy Drew anymore. I knew that the books were somewhat "old-fashioned" when I was a kid; Nancy wore dresses and peddle pushers, and her hair in a flip style. She had elegant manners. She drove an older convertible, and something about the pencil sketch drawings told me that these stories took place in a time before I was born. Nowadays, Nancy Drew would have a belly ring, drive a Hummer, and be smacking her gum while addressing her clients, "Yo yo yo, wus up?". Shudder.
But I digress...as a child, I don't remember that being sick was a bad thing. I am sure my poor mother - who had to take care of all 3 of us with the chickenpox at once - does not recall our childhood illnesses with any fondness whatsoever. Now that I have a child I know why.
When you are a mother, your child does not really care that you feel like crap. It's not because they are bad kids, it's because they are self-centered and can't fathom anything but their own needs. They still pry your eyeballs open at 6 am, looking for breakfast. They still need baths and help getting dressed. They want you to play even though you'd rather crawl into a hole. And the show must go on. There is little time to rest when you are a sick Mom. You can catch a few winks while they're at school, but if you have a child under school age, you are SOL. Even as a single adult, you have the luxury of staying in bed all day while getting paid for a sick day. Mothers have no such luck.
In any event, I am glad I am feeling better. However, I'd give almost anything to have my Mom take care of me when I am sick, even if I am 41. And I could sure go for a nice new Nancy Drew.