The Broken Weekend

Feeling rough

I can probably count on one hand the number of times Samantha has actually been sick and vomited in her 5 years.  I'm not counting all the reflux episodes that plagued us during her first 2, as they required absolutely no effort or discomfort on her part, believe it or not.  But of course, on the weekend that we have wonderful plans in another state, she wakes up doing just that.  Poor little thing put on a brave face through most of it, but then, eventually, it was through tears that she obediently took the bowl from my hands and brought it up to her face, and asked me to put the cool, damp washcloth on her forehead, a small but effective effort towards relief.  And unlike her sick episodes of the past, where once it was all out, she was just fine and dandy and ravenous, like nothing had ever happened, this one went on and on, for hours and hours.  For this child to actually tell me she wanted to lie in her room instead of on the couch in front of the tv, she had to be feeling pretty rancid.

And you want to be the best mother you can be, right?  You want to be the caring, nurturing, nurse-mommy that brings comfort and reassurance to the sick little one so the memories of these times are all good.  Memories of childhood are so important.  And I hope I could be that mom.  And I think I was.  To be honest, I don't actually know how not to be that mom, which is a relief to me (my own mother taught me well with my own positive memories).  Seeing my little girl so sad brings me pain, too, brings out every last molecule of empathy (if empathy were molecular in nature, of course) in me to want to make her feel better.  And that's what being a mommy is all about.

Sleeping it off

So I decided to take advantage of Samantha's state of captive-audience-ness and teach her a thing or two about germs.  Maybe I can scare her into doing a better job of soaping up her hands when she washes them...  I told her that germs are teeny, tiny little bugs that are so small we can't see them, and they're what made her sick.  I told her that washing our hands when we come in from outside, or after using the potty is what makes germs go away (couldn't bring myself to have to explain the concept of kill just yet...) and help you to not get sick.  She recapped what I said, and nodded her understanding, but I think that now that the seed has been planted I'll be able to nurture it and allow it to grow and blossom into full comprehension soon enough.  Her receptive and expressive language skills are pretty astounding, and I have to remember not to sell her short sometimes by not explaining something.  Maybe she won't grasp the full concept right away, but she does hear what I'm saying, and remembers it for when everything comes together and she has an "Ah hah!" moment.

Sammi began to feel better on Saturday evening, so we managed to salvage half of the weekend by making our trip out of state just a day trip on Sunday, which I'll talk about in another post.  Adding insult to injury (and further reinforcing the importance of efficient hand-washing), I discovered on the ride home that Samantha had full-blown pinkeye.  In both eyes.  A double whammy.

And on Monday morning, in true Dr. Sammi fashion (yes, she tells her dolls she's Dr. Sammi and that she's going to make them feel all better), she had her bear puppet that she named Jack leaning over the bathroom waste basket, opening up his mouth, and telling him it's okay to be sick in the trash can.  Hey, I used what was available at the time, alright? 

Broken child, broken weekend, both mercifully fixable.