You Can Only Get Sick on Tuesdays

No runny nose,no “my throat feels funny, Mommy,”no looking at me status post vomiting,wrapped in the fuzzy red blanket and clutching Penguin,your eyes melancholylateral decubitus on the sofa,auscultateregurgitaterusty bedside memories and my pediatric stethoscope,resurrected from residency.Except for Tuesdays. Because I said so.Other days are off limits.Fridays are when geriatric patients drive across 2 states to see meMondays are when I mentor medical students who will be attendings by the time you’re old enough to driveThursdays are when my eyes hopscotch over spreadsheets and see bedsheetswith gnomes damp and sweatypillowcase sour-smellingof Cheetos and curdled milkI can’t rub your backas you hunch over a glass bowl,retching the homemade organic yogurt with chia I made you for breakfastBecause I work like a mother,except when I mother like I don’t work.Which is really hard work.