It's my first sick day

So, I had a mom growing up. Obviously, since I've written about her before. The point is, that there are a few situations I mentally prepared for after years of observation.
I knew how it always was at our house when a sickness was going around. The entire family would get it one by one and Mom would take care of us. We were all a bunch of unapologetic whiners and the question "Am I dying?" was guaranteed to be thrown around with as much seriousness as though we had all been diagnosed with some terminal illness, even with a common cold. We are a family of wimps, what can I say? Mom would bring us drinks with bendy straws (because bendy straws are practically a miracle medicine), clean up our midnight barf episodes, and tell each of us for the millionth time that no matter absolutely positive we were that we were 105 degrees, we actually did not have fevers, and to stop taking our freaking temperatures every 5 minutes. She would get particularly frustrated when Dad and I would alternate with the thermometer contending to see who had the worst non-fever (98.9, take that!). After we all miraculously recovered and were back on our feet, Mom would fall victim to the malady.
If she asked us if she was dying, we would say "Geez, get over it, we all lived." She still had to be the finder of lost things, because no matter how sick she was, it didn't change the fact that I was missing one Sunday shoe. She got poked and asked "are you sleeping?" by my sister, and had to take a forgotten school lunch to my brother. She was still Mom, fever or not, still Mom, barfing or not. Still Mom, and still needed.
I saw all this, along with added testimony from my mommy friends that there are no sick days, and being ill just means your husband is going to become helpless and irritate you more than any normal day. I saw it, I heard it, thought I understood it.
Today, I lived it.
Being a sick mom sucks worse than I imagined. I've been sick alone in a college apartment during finals, I've been sick for my own wedding, and I've even spent part of my honeymoon throwing up violently in a public restroom (no, I don't want to elaborate). I've had entire workdays filled with pregnancy nausea. My point is, I know what it is to be sick, even without my mom or hubby to pamper me. I don't like it, but I've done it. I know what it is to be sick and have to keep going for my own good. I had no idea what it is to be sick and keep on working for someone else. It's relatively easy to get up and go when it's your final grade or your job on the line. It's easy to call in sick and let someone else screw up your job for a day. It's even somewhat easy to get up in the night to take medicine and try to clear a breathing passage so you don't sound like a chainsaw. It's harder to get up at 2am to feed a screaming baby when you just don't want to. It's hard to give your husband a pass on baby duty when you feel lousy, even though you know he's got finals for graduation, plus an 11 hour workday, and volunteer work for the church on his plate today, plus he doesn't feel so hot himself. It's really hard to balance the need to take care of yourself, your baby, and toss on the stress that you'll infect your husband or child and make life worse for all of you.
I'm sure better moms than me will say it's easy to put themselves last, or it's a labor of love and they don't mind, or something equally nauseating, but the fact is that for me, in this one capacity it's been excruciating. I've given up my job, my sleep, any semblance of attractiveness I once had, my waistline, regular forays outside of my home, and most of my brain capacity for my little angel and not genuinely missed any of it (okay, my brain I miss). It has been hard, but not nearly as hard as I thought. What I get back from my punkin doodle has made the sacrifices seem small. Oddly enough, giving up my ability to spend a day curled up in bed watching trashy talk shows, doped up on Nyquil, eating chicken soup and feeling bad for my pitiful self has been the toughest hurdle yet.
I guess it's because for the first time ever I am realizing that there will never be a circumstance that makes it okay to be selfish again. All those times I thought it was acceptable to make it "all about me" pale in comparison to the fact that I am living for others now, one of whom starves without my existence. So, maybe she won't starve--they do make formula--but the fact is, no one has ever needed me as much as my daughter. My selfish days are over forever, because I will always be a mom now, and I will always have a mom outlook on things. I guess realizing it intellectually and realizing it in reality are two different things. I didn't know that until this hit me like a ton of snot. On the plus side, I am surviving my first mom sickness with no violence directed at my husband, yet.
Oh, and for the record, I still feel disgusting.

30 Days in Mom's Shoes

Our Fourth of July in Utah wasn't just a fun vaction for our little family, it was partly business. Most of that business involved Daniel seeing how many fireworks he could blow up in only seven legal days, but that was far from the most important part. My little sister had been living with us since the end of May and when we went to Utah, we were dropping her off back at my parents. So basically, Aunt Maddie has been around for half of Sam's young life. Those two girls got to be pretty close. I can't believe how much I miss her already--yesterday was my first visit to the grocery store without help and I have never been so scared in my life! Luckily, Sam stopped screaming when I had been in the store about 2 minutes. Apparently, my "Hey, Baby, we are totally out of food and have to be at the dentist in two hours, so screaming or not, you are going in that store" statement did not fall on totally deaf ears.
Anyway, during the past few weeks, I have learned so much. My little sister is half my age, and she is also the same age I was when she was born. I have a little brother in the mix too, but he is much closer to my age than hers, so Maddie is the family caboose by a long shot. She never really caught on to the fact that she wasn't a teen or adult like we were and has been able to keep up with us pretty much since birth. She is a total kick--smart, funny, and too pretty for her own good. My mom always wanted more kids, but it seemed instead to be her destiny to have a few of them spread over several years. I think it worked out for the best, since all three of us are totally awesome. That is certainly the case with Miss Maddie--she is good at all the things I never was, popular and comfortable in her own skin. I don't think the awkward years are going to beat her over the head like they did with me.
When Maddie was a baby, I remember thinking how old I would be when she was my age and wondering what I would be doing. Would I be married? Would I have kids? Would I be in medical school?
Hey, two out of three ain't bad.
Having Maddie stay with us full time for the past month gave me just an inkling of what it must have been like for my mom. On top of all the indispensible baby help, I got to see what it was like to have the parenting woes that come from an infant, as well as the drama of a tween. Trying to soothe the hurt feelings of a jilted friend alternated with diaper changes. Cries for attention not only came as wailing and tears, but as constant requests and lively stories. I bought baby onesies and size zero shorts (I know, she sucks) in the same trip to Old Navy. Projectile spit-up for one and second-degree sunburn for the other--"what part of 'Valley of the Sun' is confusing? REAPPLY!" Sometimes at the end of the day, I felt so very tired--diaper rash and PMS should never be combined. I also felt so very impressed with my mom. She did it all. She did it all plus my brother. She did it all plus she was older than I was. If my life is any indication, the older you get the more tired you are. But, she not only did it all, she did it all well. I don't ever remember feeling ignored, left out, or misunderstood. At least, no more misunderstood than every teenager seems to feel so beligerently at one time or another. I remember feeling like my mom was my best friend who I could talk to about anything, and if spending the past 30 days having heart-to-heart chats with Maddie is any indication, she feels that way about her too. Even today, I talk to my mom about everything. I don't think I'll ever stop.
So, while I hope desperately that I will not be dealing with butt paste and clearasil at the same time with my own children, I have an all new respect for my mom and what she went through for us. If I can do it half as well as her, I will be more than satisfied with myself.
Thanks, Mom for managing to raise two girls, more than a decade apart, who could not be more different, and being a best friend to both of us. Thanks, Maddie, for being my other best friend and helping me into this new mom thing. I think Samantha will be your friend for life, just like I am.
I love you both.