Your heart aches when you can’t magically take away the pain of a sore throat or calm the chills that a fever brings. My daughter is resting on the couch with a moderate fever, and I’ve given her all the medicine I can to help bring it under control. She tends to vomit when she’s overly emotional, so we’ve practiced slowly breathing in and out. Cracking a shaky smile, she looks up from her tepid bath and remarks, ”I like breathing like this, I’m using the Force from Star Wars. That’s going to help me get better.” God, I wish I were still a kid sometimes.
I can only smile back at her and encourage her.
I thought it would get easier with each child; you know, handling this kind of stuff. Yet, every malady, every scrape, and every sickness does not become ‘old hat’. I thought I’d become tougher when my second child was born; impervious after the third came into my life. Yet, here I am.
Fretting.
I am absolutely shaken to the core when the ear thermometer registers anything over 101. Panic starts to set in even after my 11th year at this. I am better at wearing that stoic mask, trying to tell jokes to make my children smile, even as my thoughts are racing a mile a minute as to plan the next step.
I guess as each day goes on I am still learning what it truly means to be a mother, even after a decade of experience. Part of me thinks that even when my children leave the nest, the lessons will continue.
Bring it on.
