Sick sick sick

There are loads of things people don't tell you when you have a baby... that you can't physically feel your bum to poo after a natural birth, that you suffer a deep PMT-style depression after you stop breast feeding, that every day you find yourself looking forward to 5pm so you can justify that glass of wine.
But one of the worst things is that the very second your baby enters nursery you're all plagued with a constant, relentless sickness. Coughs, colds, chicken pox, conjunctivitus, viruses from hell, infections that rattle your bones, pound your head, shiver your spine and have you retching like you've never retched before.
In the last month, Sam has been well for five - yes, just five - days. For the rest of the time he's been utterly miserable. And so have I... because, aside from having a clingy, tearful, snotty baby, and aside from changing squitty nappies a hundred times a day, whatever he's had I've had too.
'It's perfectly normal,' the doctor smiled when I begged him to make my baby well again. 'In fact, it's better that he's ill now than when he first starts school. It's important he builds up his immune system.'
'Hear that Sam?' I said. 'You can stop your moaning. Your runny arse and gammy eyes are a GOOD thing...'
Then, perhaps selfishly, I thought, 'but what about me?' When I sit on the loo with a bucket in front of me, feeling like I'm going to faint and hearing Sam wimpering to himself next door, how is that possibly a good thing? And don't get me started on how every week I call up work to say I can't come in. 'Sam's sick' just doesn't wash anymore. Neither does 'I'm sick.' It might actually be easier to ring in and say, 'you know what? I can't be arsed to come in today. I'm officially bunking off.' Because, let's face it, that's what they think I'm doing anyway.
Right now, I'm off with a tummy bug and Sam, despite his conjunctivitus, is in nursery. Truth is, I need a break... I'm just sick of being sick.