The word labor has so many meanings. The work I do five days a week (and say what you will about the teacher's union, I'm proud of to be a member).
The 22 hours I spent in labor to finally, blissfully hold a 9 pound baby boy. The hardly even counts as a labor except at the very end when it really, really hurt.
The labors of love we go through every day, caring for sick kids until we end up sick ourselves. But the kids still need to be rocked and loved, so your own sickness goes by the wayside. I don't ever remember my mom being sick as a kid and I think of that every time I get sick. Yet, I wonder if it's not that she didn't get sick, just that she pushed it aside enough to keep going.
This weekend was not the three day weekend that I'd looked forward to since the start of school. Instead, Tommy has been miserably sick and today, I woke up feeling awful. Still, he doesn't feel that well, so as much as I'd like to curl up and nap... I'll be spending my day rocking and cuddling a sick little boy. So maybe I can't breathe and swallowing is excruciating, but the rocking and the cuddling and pushing aside my own sickness? That's one labor I don't mind one bit.