I Am NOT a Bad Mommy!
There I was, just starting to wake up on a Tuesday morning, about ready to hop out of bed and into the shower. I took a nice long stretch. It felt good to greet another beautiful morning. Birds were chirping, the sun was shining, this was going to be one fantastic day--I could feel it in my bones. And then…
“Mom…mommy…mommy?” Something about the way that last “mommy” came out seemed to take a little polish off my sunshiny morning. I brushed it off. Nah, nothing could ruin this beautiful day. And then…
“Mommy—I don’t feel so good.” Oh crap. Just what I need. A sick kid. Why now? Right at the point in the morning when I’m supposed to be having a lovely 7 a.m. wake-up call by the sweet little birdies outside my window, I get a rude awakening from a whiny 4 year old. And then…
I think I’m gonna puke. Awright, now he’s gone and done it. I couldn’t be more awake now than if I’d whacked myself over the head with a stick. Where’s the bleepin’ throw up basket? “I’m coming honey; hold on, JUST HOLD ON!” I go running down the hallway, blue basket with “sick bucket” written on the side in red magic marker. I leap into the bedroom of my precious bundle of joy only to find that he and his entire bedspread are covered in some really, really nasty goop. Oh, and are my senses wide awake now. It smells so bad. My face contorts into a shape I’m not sure even the rubber man could master, and I throw the bucket to the side, defeated. My shoulders slump, and before I can stop them, my hands find their way to my hips as my eyes focus upward and over the glasses on the bridge of my nose to gaze upon the puny little kid in the bed, as I say, “well, looks like you went ahead without me.” And then…
He starts to cry. Oh my, it’s downright pitiful. I feel sorry for the kid. He must feel so miserable. I want to go comfort him, but the stench forbids it. I keep my distance and say “honey” a lot, and “where does it hurt?” and all the things mommies say to their kids when they want them to think they are in capable hands. It all happened so fast, officer, one minute I’m minding my own business, having a glorious morning stretch, and the next minute I’m someone’s mommy and I’m needed in the sick ward. None of what I’m doing is helping. The kid just starts to cry harder and harder, as I put my fingers to my nose and take a few steps backwards. How awkward this all is. I know I should be doing something. And then…
“Mommy?” I snap back to the present. “Yes, honey, what is it?” I gotta go to the bathroom…now! Oh, I wanna go help him outta that mess. I really do, but my feet don’t seem to be working. I am all about compassion, I really am, but I just can’t seem to take that first step. “Can you make it to the bathroom?” I say a little too loudly. “Just run to the bathroom…Jimmy…hurry!” I cry out in panic. “Stop yelling at me, mommy.” And then…
The smell, omigosh, the horrid, putrid smell. I step back a bit more. I’m almost home free, if I can just make it to the hallway. “Hold on, honey, I know you’re sick. Mommy’s gonna help you. JUST HOLD ON!” And then…
“Jack? Jack, quick, c’mere quick, can you? Jimmy’s not feeling so good.
