As I write this, my throat feels like I swallowed a watermelon and I’m recovering from a night of chills and fitful sleep. Being sick is the worst. And though my son hasn’t woken up, I’m already struggling with what today will look like, how much I will give in to my deep desire to turn on the TV so I can lie down on the couch and feel sad for myself. I wonder if monks get to have sick days. Probably. If they don’t, if they’re still up for Vigils after a night of fever, maybe monks and mamas really are doppelgangers: never a day off, no matter how pathetic of a sick person you are. And I’m telling you, if anyone’s pathetic about being sick, it’s me.
So, in honor of my vocation which allows no sick days, I will steal Kate Harris’ quote of GK Chesterson in his book What is Wrong With The World: “How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No. A woman’s function is laborious, but because it is gigantic, not because it is minute.”