After a fairly routine afternoon walk I drank a cup of water. My stomach instantly unsettled and felt as though the water was a pile of stones sitting firmly in my belly. Solid and heavy. I fought the idea of getting sick for several hours, but after the baby went to bed the thought and sight of food suddenly pushed me over the edge and I clung to the porcelain throne on and off for the rest of the night.
Luckily I was at my parents house, so my mom sweetly gave up her sleep to feed Sebastian when he woke up. I was grateful for the chance to recover, but the helplessness of being the kind of sick where you just can’t control your body was compounded by the fact that I couldn’t take care of my baby. I cried as my body heaved.
When Jason text that he too had the evil, from a hotel room far far away, I was even more grateful we both weren’t home together (fighting over our only bathroom). I knew it could have been so much worse. I have a tendency to linger in hindsight about how bad things could have been under different circumstances. Maybe it’s my way of trivializing what happened. It still sucked.
After we got over the worst of it we both made our way home and spent what had been planned as a bonus family weekend day still recovering. Jason napped with the baby while i handled a work call and cleaned the kitchen. “You don’t seem sick still”, he commented. I glared at him through my chills.
I don’t remember my mom being sick when I was a kid (sadly she caught the evil just after I left). I think it’s because as moms we put our baby’s first. My mom did it again when she took my place that night- we probably should have changed the sheets. I did it as I wrapped up in a blanket as I played peek-a-boo and tried to keep my non-sick child entertained. Being sick as a mom doesn’t change the fact that the infant still needs constant care. His smiles overruled my feverish body.