It's a typical Thursday morning. I slowly awake to my alarm. Thankful I made time to set the coffee maker for auto-brew the night before so crawling in the kitchen isn't as painful as it could have been. I turn on my laptop to check emails. New project leads. Anything remarkably resembling a future commission I so desperately need.
Point the remote at the television to get my Good Morning America fix and see if anything happened overnight I need to know about. It hasn't.
Then my cell phone rings. Right now the kids spend Wednesday nights with their dad and it's him on the other end of the phone telling me Ben says he doesn't feel well. Ugh. Again? This has been going on for a month. What is the deal? This has been the worst sinus infection in the history of sinus infections.
"Tell him to at least try going to school and I bet he feels better once he gets there," I advise.
"I told him that, too. I'll load 'em up and take 'em," he tells me.
I continue on with my repetitive morning. Once again thankful I'm able to work from home as I get dressed hoping to get in a much-needed early jog versus having to put on a suit for an office job.
At 8:00 my phone rings. Caller ID tells me it's the nurse (who happens to be a friend, so it's her personal cell phone that pops up on my iPhone). Okay...that can't be good.
"Terri...you need to come get Ben. As soon as he walked in the door, the poor guy started throwing up." Oh no. Poor Ben. My 'advice' to send him earlier now resonates in my head and that horrible little pang all mothers have from time-to-time starts yelling 'bad mom!' in my ear.
I call their dad since he literally just dropped them off to see if he can go right back and get Ben so he doesn't have to wait. I'm sure he's miserable and just wants to get home.
He walks in the door. Goes straight to his room and collapses on his bed. I naively think, "Good...he can rest now. He's in his own bed and I know how much better I feel just to be in my own bed when I don't feel well."
Unfortunately, our day turned out to be anything but restful. Seems what he had wasn't just a stomach bug. If you have ever had rotavirus in your house, you know it's characteristics and also...that pungent smell that only *it* has.
My mind flashes back to the last time we had it in our house. Shelby was in pre-school and I got it within 24 hours of her having it. I missed a wonderful trip I'd been looking forward to and that time it had me in its grips for many, many days. I don't remember ever being that miserable before. I called my doctor questioning if maybe I had something else since it was going on so long. "Nope...you just got it worse. Sometimes adults get a mild case, sometimes they get it worse." Better yet, there's absolutely nothing you can do about it but let it run its course.
I was not looking forward to the possibilities of what may lie ahead in the very near future for our small household.
When your baby is that sick, on the cold, hard floor of the bathroom not knowing what he should take care of first...as a mom, your last instinct is to stay away in order to protect yourself from getting it. What mom does that?
You very instinctively help your baby. Cold wash cloths rubbed on his back. Wash off his face. Fan him. Gently pat his back and tell him it will be over with soon. Just breathe, baby. Just breathe.
There's no worse feeling in the world for a parent when something is making your child miserable and there's nothing you can really do.
I sprayed Lysol, apologizing to him. I didn't want to seem unsympathetic to what he was going through, but wanted to cut down the chances of those horribly infectious airborne germs living in our home. I knew full-well Lysol doesn't kill rotavirus, but I was still hoping beyond reasonable hope. Please let it stop here.
I didn't sleep that night, as I wanted to keep checking on him. The thought passed through my mind of him being so exhausted from the day (I'm talking all day until almost midnight) that he could get sick in his sleep. I kept rolling him on his side. Made sure a cool, wet cloth stayed on his forehead since he, of course, developed a fever and there was no possibility of keeping ibuprofen down.
At one point he looked at me and said he knew I couldn't snuggle him because he could get me sick, but asked if I'd just put my hand on his arm. "Just so I know you're here."
"Baby...I can't snuggle you because you have a fever and if I do, you'll get even more hot. I'm not going anywhere, ever. Of course I'll keep my hand on you."
And I did.
The next day was better for him. I kept him and Shelby apart as much as you can segregate in an apartment. Then that night, around one in the morning...it hit me. Hard. Another sleepless night, but this time I was the one on the cold, hard bathroom floor.
The next morning, Ben walks in my room and discovers I'm sick. He apologizes and I assure him he has absolutely nothing to apologize for. That day, I was blessed with a sweet boy bringing me cool wash clothes and patting me on the arm as he sat by my bed (until I told him to go because I didn't want to risk him getting it *again*!). But while he was with me and as he patted my arm he said, "Don't worry mom. It will all be over with soon and I'm not going anywhere. Ever. Just try and breathe."
And I did.
While I worry that Ben's extremely sweet nature will cause him some pain in the future from others who will take advantage of it, I know none of us can avoid pain. I'm thankful he has a loving heart. He's a caretaker. A people-pleaser. And one day, he will be a great man.
As for now, he's already a great young man. And I get to call him 'mine'.
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