When we woke up on Monday and realized the extent of Stella’s cold, I volunteered to do my duty as a dedicated mother and stay home with her. I immediately sensed that Steve was kicking himself that he hadn’t volunteered first. Not to be outdone, he quickly announced that he would arrange to have a sub cover him for Tuesday. The irony to this story is that after each of us spent a full day at home with her, and had to make the decision if we needed to keep her at home any longer, we began heartily convincing each other that “she really seems to have turned the corner!” and “look, her nose is barely even running anymore!” and “really, we hardly had to get up with her at all last night!” The obvious subtext being: “PLEEEEEEASE let me go back to work!”

When you realize that you can take a legitimate sick day off work even though you are not actually sick, AND you aren’t faking sick, or taking liberties with a “mental health day,” you get this deep down little feeling like “Woo Hoo! This is so cool!” You get so wrapped up in the idea of getting a day off from work that you forget that your cumulative lack of sleep is starting to make you hallucinate, and that it is pouring rain outside, AND that a sick two-year-old is pretty much the equivalent of an angry swarm of bees.

She continued to get more and more sleep deprived, but adamantly refused to nap anywhere but on the couch – and absolutely no longer than at 15 minute intervals. Because of her fever, she flat-out refused any food offered to her – no matter that we had reached the point where we were offering her sugary sugar puffs with syrup topping and a side of french fries – just eat SOMETHING! Her nose wouldn’t stop running, and she became adamant that she use her sleeve instead of a Kleenex. By the time Steve got home on Monday afternoon both Stella and I were still in our pajamas.

When I got home from work on Tuesday, Stella was still wearing the same pajamas. Aside from the fact that she had been wearing the exact same clothing for almost 48 continuous hours, Steve also informed me that they had gone out in public together. “In that?!” I asked. “Yeah, and her pair of black rubber irrigation boots. Oh, and her jean jacket.” Nice.

At that point there was no question in my mind: Stella was going back to day care, we were going back to work, and we’d all just pretend like none of this ever happened.