I'm feeling pretty yucky as I write this -- cough, aches and stuffy head -- and I am somehow reminded of some of the times my kids have been sick over the years.
Now, I know every mom can say she has been thrown up on and pooped on, sometimes both at the same time. It is just a given if you have kids, they are going to get sick.
One of the first times for me as a young mother was when my eldest was about 18 months old. We lived in Tulsa at the time and would come home nearly every weekend and stay with my parents. We were driving a pickup truck and my little one was standing in the seat between us (this was way before car seats were a necessity). He was a bottle freak and, by the time we reached Colcord, he had downed a couple full of milk. He talked very early and made the announcement that he was about to "frow up." My husband, God bless him, said, "Well, throw up on your mother," and .... he did. He turned my way and spewed curdled milk all over me! We had to pull over on the side of the road so I could get out of the truck and clean myself up a little. Thank goodness we weren't far from Mom's and Dad's, because I certainly didn't smell very good for the rest of the trip.
The other time that comes to mind was about a dozen years down the road. My youngest was now about two years old and had been ill with a stomach virus. He was much better, however, and I thought the worst was over. So, after supper one evening, I had stretched out on the couch with a book to rest for a few minutes. My husband looked at the child and said, "He looks like he is going to throw up."
I responded, "No, he's over it now," but called him over so I could check for myself and, you guessed it, curdled milk again, and I was still lying down! My neck and chest were covered. My husband leaped from his chair, made a move to pick up the baby, then made a feint towards me, then back toward the baby, as if he didn't know which one of us to help first. Well, that made me laugh. There I was, lying flat on my back, with puke running down the front of my shirt and down the sides of my neck, in my hair, and I couldn't stop laughing.
I think it was one of those moments where it is either laugh or cry, and I chose to laugh. I was just kind of stuck because I couldn't move without making a bigger mess, so I just laid there and laughed until tears rolled down my face.
My older kids -- and I'm sure my husband also -- thought I had lost my mind and were giving me strange looks. Someone finally brought me a towel and I managed to get up and head for the shower. And the baby, he was fine -- sort of a last hurrah, so to speak, for that particular illness.
Then there was chicken pox. When my kids were little, there was no vaccine yet, so, yeah, we had it -- for six weeks! My eldest got it first and he had it so bad that you couldn't touch him anywhere without touching spots. He had spots on the bottoms of his feet and in between his toes, in his hair and on his ears. I would give him several soda baths a day just to relieve the itch. Poor kid was miserable, and so was I.
Then, when he was just beginning to recover, his sister came down with it. She had a milder case, but just as she was about over it all, the next one in line started breaking out. I couldn't believe it!
Can't help but think about the Duggar family right here. I'll bet they are grateful for vaccines! If I had 19 kids, I'm sure I would have ended up in an institution. At least the baby, about six months old at the time, either didn't get them, or had such a mild case that we couldn't tell for sure if he had them or not. I guess God decided that I had enough and cut me a break.
And I remember rocking sick babies through the night, sponging feverish little bodies and just praying for some sleep -- the life of a mother, I guess.
One such night, a New Year's Eve about 38 years ago, this particular fever had broken at midnight and the child was asleep. Just as I started to get up and lay him down, the neighbors set off a long string of firecrackers in celebration of the New Year. Of course, it woke him up, so back to the rocking chair we went. I think I cried.
And another time, the baby was just six weeks old and started running a temperature on Christmas Eve evening. Of course, my kids never got sick during office hours on a weekday! Anyway, he had a painful ear infection and I had walked the floor all night long to soothe him. He had finally drifted off to sleep and I gingerly laid down on the couch with him on my chest and closed my exhausted eyes when I felt a tug on my sleeve. I pried my eyelids open and there were my other three kids, kneeling by the couch, whispering. "Mom, it's morning, can we open our presents now?" Aaaaargh! We opened presents, dropped the kids off at my parents and made a trip to the ER on Christmas Day.
I'm sure my experiences are not unique and many of you have similar tales to tell. And I am also sure that we would do it all over again because every minute, every sleepless night, every ruined shirt was so totally worth it. And take heart because these same children will one day have kids of their own. You can then laugh at them when they have their turn!
But one night several years ago, my daughter, who was a single mom at the time, and just lived a couple blocks away, called me in the middle of the night, saying, "Mom, the baby just threw up all over the bed!"
Did I laugh? No, I just climbed out of bed and said, "OK, I'll be right there."
Tamela Weeks is a freelance writer in the Gentry area. She may be reached by email at tamela.weeks@ gmail.com. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 01/08/2014