Last week I got sick. Really sick. The kind of sick where you make yourself a coleslaw salad for lunch…and an hour later you never want to eat one ever again. Not pretty coming up, just saying.
I was so sick that I actually had to call my husband to come home from work and field the kids. This is a major taboo in our household. One of Jason’s best qualities is the way he never brings work home. The flip side of that is the neon “Do Not Disturb” sign he wears around his neck any time I get near him in his working environment. This especially applies to unscheduled sickness on my part. He hates it when I’m sick.
Note to self: Never get a chronic illness.
The afternoon was a haze of puking and sleeping and trying to not die. I have a vague memory of Jason coming home and stomping around our bedroom and sighing really loudly in a futile attempt to guilt me into a miraculous recovery but I was mostly gone. I put the pillow over my head and tried to be one with the bed.
I finally pulled myself out of bed around 6 pm and crawled to the recliner to recline. Shortly thereafter Jason brought all the kids home from their various activities and, of course, they came rushing up the stairs to see if I was still breathing.
I might as well have been a corpse, the weeping and wailing over my ailment was so fierce.
“Oh Mommy!” June cried, “You can’t be sick, you just can’t! If you’re sick who will brush our hair? Daddy never brushes our hair–” sob sob sob “and no one will EVER make us lunches again! Don’t DIE!” I might add that this monologue was given while both June and Georgia attacked my lap and my head, crying and clinging and hugging and patting. It did not help my nausea.
That night when it came time for the girls to go to bed I succumbed to their anxious pleas and agreed to lie on their bed and snuggle. But man, I felt horrible. I crawled up the top flight of stairs and collapsed between them.
In no time little hands were patting my back and stroking my head while my girls talked to each other about my state of semi-death.
“Junie, ohhhh, poor Mommy, what do you think is wrong with her?” Obviously my previous explanations held absolutely no weight.
“Georgia, she’s sick! Shh, she just needs to go to sleep.” Pat pat stroke stroke kiss kiss. “Hey!” June continued, “I know! Let’s say a prayer for Mommy that she can feel better!”
I smiled through the fog as both my girls snuggled up really tight and June started to pray for me.
“Heavenly Father…” she started then stopped. I waited to see what the hold up was and then realized she couldn’t continue because she was crying. “We love our mommy so much, and she’s such a good mommy, please help her feel better so she can brush our hair and make us food and take care of us, we don’t want another Mommy!”
At that point all three of us were bawling. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so incredibly loved by anyone, these little girls are my precious gems and I can’t imagine how lonely my life would be without them.
Considering how many times they change their clothes every day and all the laundry they’ve added to my life, it’s nice to enjoy the occasional Mommy perk. It’s not perfect and routinely comes with vomit, but it’s worth it.