THE MOM

My life has changed in so many ways since our son was born. I don't get nearly enough sleep. I refer to the bathroom as the potty. Unless someone intervenes, I generally cut toast into four equal triangles, regardless of who is eating it.

But tonight I am aware of one of the most profound ways my little boy has changed my world. I WILL LIKELY NEVER BE SICK BY MYSELF AGAIN.

Recently D came down with a nasty virus. The poor little guy became part of the couch, rousing only to gesture for a tissue. I wiped his nose all day long, administered Tylenol, cuddles and brought him cup after cup of ice water. Yesterday afternoon a tickle started in the back of my throat and I realized with dread that I, too, was getting sick. The caretaker. The one who was holding it all together. As the day wore on I became sniffly, feverish and - GOD HELP US - cranky.

I felt gross.... achy, hot, stuffy... miserable. I didn't want to pretend to be Chick Hicks from the movie Cars. I didn't want to guide him through a meltdown with simple choices. I didn't want to watch 6 episodes of Little Bear.

I wanted to lie on the couch in my bathrobe, jamming snotty tissues into the overflowing pockets. I wanted to catch up on crappy daytime TV. When else do you get to watch psychic Sylvia Browne on the Montel Williams show? I wanted to suck on a popsicle and cruise the cable TV On Demand service for my favorite movies.

But alas, I am THE MOM. The rules have changed. It doesn't matter that I don't feel well. It doesn't matter that my husband is home, ready, willing and able to take care of our son. I am THE MOM. He wants his mom. When you're 3 years old and feeling miserable, the only person that you want is your mom, even if she, too, is cranky and miserable.

So I sucked it up and continued on with the day as if it were like any other. I thought I knew what it was to SUCK IT UP before I had my son. I was clueless.

It will likely be this way for years to come... colds, flus and viruses parading through our house like a Cinco de Mayo celebration. I will care for our child and in turn become infected. My days will not be spent hiding from civilization under a blanket waiting to feel better, but Lysoling the bathroom, making soup, picking up tissues and holding his head. For this is the job of a MOM.


But PLEASE don't let my husband get sick.... I don't think I can handle the two of them.