All evening I chase the thought that some \u201cdevil\u201d is \u201cdigging\u201d me.
\nI lie down in bed, and Pa immediately appears in the doorway:<\/p>\n
\u2014Are you sick, Mom?
\n\u2014No, I\u2019m not sick\u2026 I just lay down.
\n\u2014I think you\u2019re lying. I\u2019ll heal you.<\/p>\n
After a short pause, she adds:
\n\u2014Actually, I planned to be a dog doctor,
\nbut until I grow up, I can heal you.<\/p>\n
And here it is:
\nAs the \u201cmonster\u201d season begins\u2014my post from two years ago for moms.<\/p>\n
STRONGLY ADAPTED FOR MOMS.
\nABOUT FOUNTAINS AND MACHINE GUNS.<\/p>\n
\u2014Brother, you\u2019re sneezing like a fountain.
\n\u2014Sister, you\u2019re coughing like a machine gun.<\/p>\n
My Do and Pa giggle with muffled voices.
\nOnly for me\u2014their mom, just victorious over the temperature demons\u2014something about it makes me laugh differently.<\/p>\n
The \u201cfountain\u201d and \u201cmachine-gun\u201d virus champions land in their beds.
\nTrue, the landing is temporary.
\nThen, when it\u2019s time to sleep, the percussion and wind orchestra arrives:<\/p>\n
\u2014Mom, I want \u201csysiu.\u201d
\n\u2014Mom, can you bring me a drink?
\n\u2014Mom, I spread my blanket.
\n\u2014Can you fluff my blanket?
\n\u2014Mom, are you downstairs?
\n\u2014Mom, why aren\u2019t you going to sleep? I hear you talking.
\n\u2014What are you talking about with Dad?<\/p>\n
For a split second, I imagine smoke of anger rising from my nose like a freshly used inhaler\u2026
\nBut then, inhaling those fumes as if for myself, I exhale exhaustion, magically calm, lift my butt, and climb up to see how I can serve the little patients this time.<\/p>\n
Both are sick.
\nNot often, but this time, during the holidays, it happened.<\/p>\n
At home, coughs fire like machine guns, sneezes erupt like fountains,
\nand helping this joyful company is a fever jumping on a jump rope.
\nDay and night.
\nWithout pause.<\/p>\n
I pry my jaw open and, sneakingly, wave it at my thoughts like a fly circling:
\nmy throat hurts a little, my bones ache.
\nWhat about you?<\/p>\n
Dear Mother, no\u2014
\nno illnesses.
\nNo thoughts about possibilities.
\nMoms do NOT get sick.<\/p>\n
And if it happens by accident, such trivial activities end immediately.
\nThey are the ones sick.
\nNot us.<\/p>\n
Before having kids, you had the right to \u201cbe sick like a normal person.\u201d
\nTo treat a suspected illness with linden tea and homemade honey.
\nBut \u201cafter acquiring children,\u201d such luxuries disappear.<\/p>\n
Once (thankfully, only once) we ended up in the hospital with little Do.
\nHe got sick. Then I followed his example.
\nAnd since I already knew the rule\u2014moms don\u2019t get sick\u2014I strictly followed it.
\nAnd in the quiet of the house, I crept to do a \u201cfoot soak\u201d (would it help?).
\nBut indulging in the \u201cfoot procedure,\u201d circumstances arose that required calling the white van and rushing to the hospital.<\/p>\n
I sit holding my child in the reception room, trying desperately not to cough like an old roaring tractor.
\nThe not-very-pleased doctor lifts her eyes:
\n\u2014Mom, shouldn\u2019t you be treated too?
\n\u2014Me? No. I\u2019m healthy\u2014
\nI swallow fifteen coughs.<\/p>\n
The whole hospital visit, I feared that slightly annoyed doctor like a fierce wolf, restraining my naughty cough in every possible way,
\nso she wouldn\u2019t \u201cwrite me off\u201d as an unfit nurse.<\/p>\n
We moms can control a cough.
\nIgnore a headache.
\nWe never feel bad.
\nWe don\u2019t feel pain.
\nWe fear nothing.
\nWe chew and swallow the word \u201ccannot.\u201d<\/p>\n
After sleepless nights, we don\u2019t lack sleep.
\nWe don\u2019t need alarms.
\nBecause the best alarm is the strange sound coming from the kids\u2019 room.
\nAnd we can, in the middle of the night, stomp our sweet sleep into emptiness with uncanny precision.<\/p>\n
Because:
\nThey sneeze.
\nThey cough.
\nThey breathe oddly.<\/p>\n
We have \u201cinstalled\u201d thermometers in our heads.
\nAnd with snuggling\u2014or more advanced, just from a glance\u2014we can almost precisely measure their temperature.<\/p>\n
Though at first glance, we may look like poor shamans,
\na closer look shows we could really be considered a group of unlicensed doctors.
\nFrom the first sneeze, suspicious shiny eyes, or odd breathing,
\nwe gauge the severity of the \u201ccaught virus.\u201d<\/p>\n
Though few of us are pharmacists, we toss out kids\u2019 medicine names like peas,
\nand often we have them all in our little medicine \u201ctreasures.\u201d
\nMiracles?
\nMagic?
\nLove?<\/p>\n
Loving them from the moment we see two \u201clittle legs\u201d in a weirdly \u201cwrapped\u201d contraption,
\nover the years we only improve in love and self-training, while they\u2014
\nthey \u201cput cherries on the cake of life\u201d:<\/p>\n
They destroy our plans like house-of-cards.
\nThey sprinkle on our sweet dreams.
\nThey throw sticks in our wheels: getting sick at the worst time, tumbling just when you warned them not to.
\nThey quickly mess up freshly dressed clothes.
\nThey somehow split pant knees in a single day.
\nThey break your favorite mug.
\nThey pull off your necklace again.
\nThey crumble food while eating.
\nThey spill cocoa on the white sofa by accident.
\nThey wrinkle their noses at the soup you lovingly prepared in a rush.
\nThey don\u2019t hurry when you do.
\nThey forget what you taught them.
\nThey have tantrums and stubbornness.
\nThey have bad moods and ordinary outbursts.<\/p>\n
And then\u2026 once you\u2019ve eaten all these cherries from life\u2019s cake,
\nand with your sober, trained mind understand the rules,
\nthey call you again:<\/p>\n
\u2014Mom! Mom, come!<\/p>\n
You peel your heavy butt off the well-deserved chair,
\nbreathe in imaginary soothing steam,
\nand follow your well-trodden path.<\/p>\n
\u2014What happened? \u2014I ask quietly, so I don\u2019t wake the other \u201clion.\u201d
\n\u2014Lean down.<\/p>\n
I bend obediently, hoping this is the last request of the day.
\nTiny hands stretch toward my neck and whisper into my ear:<\/p>\n
\u2014You are my best friend.<\/p>\n
Period.<\/p>\n
No conclusions.
\nFountains and machine-guns night #4 awaits.
\nAnd the highest nomination in the \u201cMotherhood\u201d contest.<\/p>\n
I feel sleepless. But with a medal hanging around my neck.<\/p>\n
Kiss the snuffling, sneezing little ones goodnight.
\nDon\u2019t worry. You won\u2019t catch it.<\/p>\n
Next to the thermometers and X-rays installed in moms\u2019 heads,
\nlove works perfectly\u2014enough to replace any immunity.<\/p>\n
Goodnight,
\nV.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"template":"","class_list":["post-17526","istorija","type-istorija","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istorija\/17526","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/istorija"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/istorija"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/viktorijos.lt\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17526"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}