When Westley, Rob, or I come down with something, I do pretty well at maintaining my normal routine. If I'm the sick one, I tend to withdraw into myself a lot and let Westley watch stupid amounts of TV. But I still manage to plan the day, and even get some rest. If Rob or Westley is the sick one, that's a hundred times easier, even if it does involve a cranky husband or toddler.
Right now, Rob, Westley, and I all have colds. Or something. Our house is a mucus factory, and all of us would just as soon nap as do anything else.
With both guys out of commission and my own symptoms to fight, I find myself feigning enthusiasm for everyday tasks, just to keep the house from collapsing into a heap of unmade beds and stuffed animals. I'm cooking up a storm - instead of resting - as I chop vegetable for two different soups. I brew cup after cup of tea.
Rob takes care of Westley, and I take care of Rob, and then feel very sorry for myself that no one is taking care of me. But I have to keep going, because if I don't clean up the kitchen, no one else is going to, and I can't make ginger-onion soup and black bean curry and other spicy, sinus-clearing, throat-helping things in a dirty kitchen.
This has been going on for several days now. While I can get very grumpy about having my favorite water bottle co-opted or my sleep disrupted, I'm also pleased to realize that in pushing forward with my work, I seem to be the least sick of the three of us.