momlogic's Vivian: Remember sick days? You know, when feeling like utter doo-doo meant the main obligation of the day was to mumble a brief message of misery into your boss's voicemail? And after a furtive pee and double shot of NyQuil, you could collapse back into a Technicolor slumber to shake the discomfort of horse testicles throbbing away in your throat, regaining consciousness only to glean five-minute pearls of wisdom from "Oprah" and "Extra" from the comfort of the space between your covers?

Only after two full days of lolling about in this fugue state with no time zone would you scrape your butt out of bed, choke down tea, a bagel and half a dozen Sudafed and bravely venture back into the workplace. You'd then emerge to spend eight hours trying to comprehend the marching orders issued by your professional superior through eardrums awash with fluid, while deep in a manic pseudoephedrine high that inspires you to gnaw through ten pencils.

For me and every other mom in the universe without help in-house or a partner with the spare day to stay home and assume the parenting position, the sick day has been reduced to an urban myth, an elusive reverie of my pre-production days when I could take a lengthy, luxurious dump with the door closed or actually have ten minutes to try on clothes when shopping for them.

Sigh. Those were the days. How I miss those days.

But if you're sick as a dog like me, you've no recourse but to buck up, buttercup, and get on with the diaper-changing and nose-wiping (yours -- soon to be theirs). Because as any mom on the planet will tell you, sick days are for wimps.

If you are a sick-day-taking wimp, please forgive my diatribe. I don't hate you. I'm just jealous as all living hell.