PAGING DR. MOM

This past week was a rough one. My little monkey was a sick, pitiful little girl. She had a nasty stomach bug that I know she got from me, that I got from someone, probably at the grocery store since I am there about every other day and EVERYONE has to come tell me how cute my daughter is, as if I don’t know this, and bring their germy hands and face into our personal space somewhere.

This was the first time she was really sick. We have been through the sniffles but this was real Momma can’t kiss it, make it better with a bit of cake, some extra hugs and a special juice cup sick. It was unbearable to see her like that.

I knew being a Mom was gonna be tough. Sleepless nights, whinny days, temper tantrums, and general mother-daughter battles, but no one told me about this. I have literally cried myself to sleep the past week because I couldn’t make it better.

Momma’s are supposed to be magical. We can heal scraped knees with a CareBear Band-Aid and a kiss We scare away the scariest under-bed-monsters and tell the most fanciful bedtime stories, but I could do nothing for her to make her feel better. We watched countless hours of Backyardigans and Ratatouille. I hugged her and kissed her and gave her all the popsicles and juice she wanted. I fixed her favorite meals and sang her lullabyes and held her until she feel asleep in my arms from exhaustion.

She is all better now and back to her happy wonderful self and I have come to realize I am in fact, not Super Mom. I am a damn good Mom, but even I have my limits. Boys will break her heart, friends will hurt her feelings, and her Daddy will make her so mad she will spend hours in her room crying. All that I can handle just spare me from anymore sick baby. It is just too heartbreaking to see, even for a hard-ass like me.