I hate seeing my children sick.
Yes, I do have one child who is chronically ill, but today I’m not talking about him. I’m talking about my little man Paddy.
At around 1.30am this morning, he came into my bed. Now, I’m not one of those parents who lets their kids come and sleep in with them, but this morning was an exception. He was hot, and his nose was running like a tap. He had coughed so much that he’d vomited. He had the dreaded common cold. I had it a few weeks ago, so I knew how crappy he was feeling.
I brought him into my bed and let him snuggle in. But he didn’t sleep peacefully, and neither did I. He coughed all night, he fussed, he moved around, he kicked and whacked me in the head. And this morning, when I woke, I felt like I could sleep another 12 hours. I’m sure he felt the same way.
We never like seeing our kids sick. It pains us to know we can’t make them feel any better, that we just have to let them “see it through” and hope like crazy that the rest of the family don’t get sick as well.
I’m anticipating another bad night, another night of little sleep and a restless, uncomfortable, feverish baby boy. I can’t complain though – it’s all part of a mother’s job. And it’s a job I relish, even when I’m tired and being vomited on. I’ll take those days anyway, because it’s also those days that I get the biggest hugs and the biggest snuggles, and when my little boy looks up at me with so much love and a dependency I never knew anyone would expect from me. I’m his mum, and it’s my job. And my joy.