No. Just, no.
See, the ugly reality of a sick day is essentially it's the worst day. You wake up to sea of used Kleenexes on the bed. Are you on a cloud? Are you in heaven? You may feel like you want to die, but no, you're just getting up close and personal with your husband's dried-up mucous from yesterday. You roll (or in my 9-months-preggo case heave) yourself across your king-size bed to give your husband a good morning kiss, but you both end up coughing all over each other in a fun little game I like to call "No, you die first."
You sit. You lay in bed. You moan and groan like you're in labor. (Ha.) You sit some more. At some point you decide to put on pants and meander downstairs to scrounge for food. (Good luck with that one.) Then you find your couch and plump your fat fanny down for some more good ol' fashion sitting. Really, you're just trying to stay alive. You almost forget your husband is even in the room because neither of you are talking. You've transformed into helpless blobs incapable of making noises other than "Ugh," "Ahhh," "Fever," and (my personal favorite) "Foooood."
Projects around the house are beckoning you. "Come work on the nursery or your child will have no where to sleep and nothing cute to stare at..." But you ignore them. After all, you put on pants. Your productivity level just reached max capacity... not to mention the thumb workout you're surely getting from all the channel surfing.
There's also the little issue of cabin fever when you have an actual fever. Being in your house is jim dandy, sure. You can probably think of worse places to stay. But when you're infesting every nook and cranny of your living space with your gunktivitis, all you want to do is get out. You want to run (or in my case, wobble) down the street ("FREEEEDOM!"), breathe in some fresh air, pretend like you've done more today than put on pants and watch an ungodly amount of How I Met Your Mother episodes, and blissfully ignore the achy, trembly feeling that's flowing through your hygiene-questionable veins. Damn it, you just want to live!
But instead, you're (still) on your couch with your husband. Not talking. Being haunted by the zillions of projects piling up around you. Feeling like you'll die at any moment. And singing your own version of Leona Lewis's "Bleeding Love":
I took a sick day, and I keep sneezing. Keep, keep wheezing. I keep moaning. I keep, keep groaning. And I, I keep sitting. I keep, keep pitting out... I took a sick day.