Moms (don’t) get sick

As long as their snuffling and coughing love cannons aren’t firing.

We, moms, somehow magically focus.

And switch on the mode: “If I don’t take care of them, who will?”

So.

We run around all day.

We tiptoe through nights.

We brew teas.

We give them their syrups.

We blow their noses as if opening dams.

And most of all, we hold them in our arms, sharing kisses like magical little tablets.

Kisses that soothe and heal.

And while doing all this, we even manage to marvel:
“Thank God I’m healthy and sharp.”

But.

When the home front finally calms—temperatures stabilize, and cough cannons stop firing endless salvos…

And those sweet little faces once again break into mischievous smiles saying: “Mom, look, we’re healthy and naughty AGAIN”…

Then…

…it’s the turn of the “not-sick moms.”

Suddenly, nothing seems to happen, but that button—“I can do everything,” “I’m healthy,” “I’m sharp”—just doesn’t switch on.

That’s exactly what happened to me this time.

Over the weekend, my all-terrain button “broke,” and I was forced to take off my crown of “I can do everything.”

“Mom is lying down!”—almost every corner of the house whispered.

“Mom, are you very sick?”—DO or Pa would peek into my bedroom.

After a while, the door would quietly creak open again, and a soft voice would ask:
“Mom, are you feeling any better?”

And indeed. Mom lay knocked out by the fever,
“gifted” with a headache that made lifting my head from the pillow a struggle,
and to make things extra special—a throat pain added, carefully designed to prevent even a whisper of:

“Don’t worry, I’ll just lie down a little and be healthy in no time.”

I lay there for a full day.
Almost the whole time, I slept.
And in the in-between moments, when my mind kicked in, do you know what I thought?

How good it is to be sick.
Knowing that after a day or two, I’ll be back on my feet and able to take care of everyone.

I’ll be able to go out to the terrace and watch them play.
I’ll be able to prepare their meals.
I’ll be able to lay out their clothes.
I’ll check that they’ve dressed properly for going outside.
I’ll be able to kiss them as I send them into a new day.
I’ll be able to scoop little My into my arms again.
Who doesn’t understand why, on the one day he doesn’t nap, Mom is lying in bed sleeping—and stretches his little arms to be with me.
But I didn’t take him.

I lay there with all my ailments.
And yet, I was a little happy.
Knowing that my illness was temporary.

And with one ear listening to family life continuing downstairs without Mom,
I chased away the intrusive thought: how terrifying it would be if a mom were sick permanently.

Because we moms are CRAZILY
N E E D E D.

Don’t get sick.
And if you do—make sure it’s only temporary.

Mua,
V.