Man Cold Vs. Mom Cold

I don’t know about you, but every time my husband gets a cold, apparently it’s akin to having the Ebola virus. He is immediately struck down and lies there awaiting his recovery, while doing nothing else. When I get sick, I’m expected to drink some water, take some ibuprofen and rub some dirt on it. I’m sick of this double standard bullshit.

Do men really feel worse when they get sick? I doubt it. Are they just giant babies who expect us to be their mommies when they take ill? Hey buddy, if you didn’t come out of this vagina, don’t expect me to treat you like you did. Or is it that we have survived giving birth and in comparison nothing is really that bad? Maybe the man cold’s a myth?

Today, I’m experiencing what is possibly the first female “man cold”… let’s call it the “mom cold.” I feel like I’m dying–picking-out-caskets-and-laying-out-my-burial-outfit dying. Now, obviously I don’t actually have a man cold because I have a vagina. My official diagnosis is acute sinusitis, double ear infection and bronchitis with a side of coughing-induced stress incontinence. Just to add insult to injury, I have hormonal headaches to accompany shark week. What’s next, diarrhea? Oh wait, all the sinus drainage into my stomach has already taken care of that… and for an added bonus, there’s vomiting!

If this is what having a cold feels like for a man, then I take it all back. Men are not babies. They don’t need to suck it up. They have every right to lie down on the couch in the fetal position and try not to die. I get it. This, my friends, is the nearest thing to death that I have ever felt. It’s worse than transition labor. It’s worse than periodontic surgery. It’s worse than pneumonia. Hell, it’s even worse than the vaginal tear I endured from my baby’s 15-inch head. To all you men who have suffered through your man cold and lived to tell about it, I salute you.

I guess I’ll go back to the couch and assume the fetal position. No, I won’t. I have kids to watch, butts to wipe, laundry to do, food to cook, a house to clean and an endless list of other responsibilities because I’m a mom. There’s no one to make me chicken soup or take my temperature. Hell, I’ll probably have to drive myself to the hospital if worse comes to worse. Tell my children that I loved them.

*sniff*cough*sniff*sneeze*release a small amount of urine*swallow razor blades* vomit* cough*cough*grab my aching head*repeat*

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About Deborah Cruz

You can read loads more from Deborah (@TruthfulMommy) at her blog The TRUTH about Motherhood and as a contributing writer at Smart Mom Style and the Stir.

Deborah spends her days drinking coffee in suburbia, shuttling little ones and planning social media world domination and occasionally, she sleeps.

She's at Facebook, Twitter, Google + and Pinterest too!

Being brutally honest and irreverent all over the internet since 2009.

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  1. [...] can think of nothing more horrific that being trapped on a floating barge of disease with hundreds of barfing and pooping compatriots. There’s something about it that makes me feel [...]

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