Fever When You Hold Me Tight

Me on Saturday morning, January 15: Yay! Three-day-weekend! So many things to get done, but extra time, so hear me roar, world!

Wait, why did my child just crawl into my lap and say he was cold?  I'm the one who's always cold and I don't think it's cold in here.

And then he said he didn't want to go anywhere.  Not even out for ice cream.

And then I felt his forehead.

And so it began.  Home with a feverish, miserable-feeling child.  I told myself not to worry about it.  We had three days!  Three days of cooking food he wouldn't eat.  Three days of endless laundry. On Sunday, he was still miserable.  And on Monday too.  Not miserable enough to drag him to a doctor's office and expose him to other miserable kids, but miserable enough that I left the house two times all weekend -- both were kamikaze trips to the grocery store.  My son really tries to be a good sport when he's sick, but his one requirement during illness is to be within arm's reach of me during all of his waking hours.  This includes the bathroom. 

 

(And let this post serve as notice to his future life partner.)

On Monday, I felt that unique tension in my shoulders and a pit in my stomach that I hadn't felt in awhile.  The feeling that came with knowing he wasn't going to be well enough to go to school on Tuesday.  The impending stress of trying to care for a sick child while still trying to check on things at work and wonder what was piling up in my absence.  A day of feeling like a shitty mother (because he's not getting my full attention) and a shitty lawyer. And exhausted.

The pit in my stomach was bordering on full-fledged ulcer when my son was in preschool.  Preschool was where all forms of germs and bacteria met to form their unholy armies.  My kid was sick All Of The Time.  And I was still trying to be Private Firm Litigator Extraordinaire.  I became all too skilled at writing briefs on a laptop as my child whimpered next to me in bed and having my assistant try to arrange for me to participate telephonically as often as possible.  I have a husband, but I also have a kid who can only croak, "Moooommmmy" in his weakest moments.

And let's be honest.  As progressive as we try to be, my husband makes more money than I do and his job tends to take priority over mine. In fact, he was at work the whole weekend. The prioritization was cemented awhile back when I finally  switched from the private firm to the public entity with actual "sick leave" and less day-to-day pressure (and way less money).  Believe me, I am very aware of how lucky we are that things worked out this way and indescribably grateful for it.  But still, on days like today it's hard not to feel like you're on a waxed treadmill that's been set a few notches too fast.

The good news is that the kid woke up fever free this morning.  He's still a little weak and sniffley, but playing and in much better spirits. He'll be back to school tomorrow.  And after a few frantic emails early this morning, things seem relatively calm there too.  There's a lesson in here somewhere.