I stayed home sick on Monday, and regardless of the fact that I went from headache and feeling like a 50-pound dog was sitting on my chest (she wasn’t) to the kind of nausea that makes you carry around a garbage can “just in case,” Maizie still needed to be taken out. She really didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation — that I was basically sacrificing recuperation (i.e., laying on the couch under a down blanket) so she could poop. Then, when my meds wore off, and I spent a few minutes coughing, she had the audacity to sit up in her bed and grunt at me. As though I was putting her out. The nerve. But for some reason — even though I felt terrible and wanted to do absolutely nothing — I still felt extremely guilty that I couldn’t really pay attention to her. Sigh. Kids.