Something happened last week and I am finally able to talk about it.
We had just arrived at a friend’s house, ready for an afternoon of play. As we stood in her foyer, I did my make-sure-you-say-hello-and-take-off-your-shoes thing. Suddenly, my youngest turned to me and said:
“Mum, I feel like I’m gonna –“
I didn’t need him to finish the sentence; his pallor said it all. In one fell swoop, I opened her front door and launched him outside where he proceeded to lose his lunch… on her front step.
“Oh my God, I am SO SORRY! Kids! Come on! Put those shoes back on. NOW!”
My friend and I exchanged a knowing look and promised to reschedule once everyone was healthy. There was an awkward moment where I wondered aloud what to do about the front stoop. Should I hose it off? What is the etiquette here, exactly?
“Don’t worry about it! Just go, and feel better!”
Quickly, I rifled through my trunk and located the emergency chuck-it bucket. (Yes, I’ve been here before, my friends.) I handed it to my son, loaded everyone in the car, sanitized hands, and drove like the wind.
… and I did feel horrible for him; it’s heartbreaking when your child is ill. But I also felt horrible for myself. If we are being completely honest, when I first saw his sweet, green little face my first thought was “sh*t!” and not “poor guy.”
Because puke is my parenting kryptonite. It makes me feel powerless.
I’ve tackled fevers and random viruses, rashes and diarrhea, black eyes and bloody lips, ER trips and hospital stays, stitches and broken bones. We’ve had to Heimlich the same child on three separate occasions.
I can handle all of that stuff like a trooper. My mama bear comes out in full force and gets the job done.
But puke?
Puke makes me want to pack my bags and head to a hotel for two weeks… by myself.
I wish I was that kind of mom that lovingly holds hair back and wipes brows, all the while snuggling the sick one.
But I’m just not.
I don’t want to hug. I want to run and hide. I want to quarantine myself. I want to switch places with my husband, who is able to leave during working hours.
When the stomach virus rears its ugly head in our house, I loathe the mom I morph into. I spend my days sanitizing and doing laundry and waiting for the next one to bite the dust. I feel on edge, watching my children as if they were ticking time bombs… and making sure they tick as far away from carpets and upholstery as possible….
…and I beat myself up about what a crappy puke mom I am.
I feel trapped–suffocated–until it is over.
I am knocking on wood right now and crossing all my digits and even my eyes, but I think we’re on the other side. Everyone is smiling again, and I’m back to feeling like I’m pretty good at this whole motherhood thing.
I survived.
Motherhood is a wild ride. Some days are fantastic and others just plain suck. Some days we feel like we are rocking the motherhood gig, while other days we feel we are failing miserably.
No one can rock it all the time. We all have our kryptonite moments. This is mine.
This post was last modified on December 8, 2017 9:42 pm
If you like some extra squares in your cubes, check out the new Rubik's x…
Like many others, I jumped directly into my Apple Music Replay this year filled with…
It's time to stuff the stockings that were hung with care with our must-have stocking…
It's time to get styling and stocking up on everyday necessities that we think you…
Every geek loves a new gadget. Here’s a selection from the GeekDad and GeekMom writers,…
If you enjoy 3D printing with filament and are interested in something new, resin printing…