This week my husband and son both caught a nasty cold — or two. I’m actually convinced they have two viruses at the same time, something I previously thought was impossible, or at least such bad luck that karma had to be involved. High fevers, terrible coughs, and restless sleep have been our constant companions this week.
I’ve been Nurse Mommy, but I’m the first to admit I’m terrible at it. I like to see progress, and these colds have been in a holding pattern worse than anything I’ve experienced at BWI Airport. Each morning I hope to wake to a healthy family, only to hear the coughs sputter to life. Selfishly, I watch my family’s discomfort and think, “I’m next,” not because I want to be sick, but with the grim acceptance of fate. So far the little virus buggers have kept me in suspense, lingering too long in my guys, and leaving me alone.
As you can imagine, writing has been left on the tarmac while I measure cups of ibuprofen and administer albuterol puffs. Until today.
After the kiddos’s doctor visit, we went out for Mother’s Day lunch. The Widget screamed when he realized we were not going inside his favorite restaurant, but just picking up drive-thru. As we dined in the Hannaford parking lot, he mashed his yogurt parfait into his face and car seat. Once home, he jumped into my bed and coughed into my pillow repeatedly. We got him back up to take more meds, and he stomped on my toe and demanded a throw pillow before collapsing in a sweaty mess.
Now he sleeps. And now I write, unfocused, complain-y, but words all the same. It doesn’t feel great, but it feels necessary. I’ll return to being Nurse Mommy when he wakes up, putting a DVD on and making lemon and honey tea.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the women who have patiently, lovingly nursed children back to health. And Happy Mother’s Day to the rest of us, too.