Barfin' Blues

So anyone who has known me or my kids for any length of time knows that my children, especially Claire, get sick and get sick a lot. Every fall, winter and spring my kids run the gambit of illnesses.

A lady said to me not too long ago that her child got sick a lot but by age 6, it had sort of run its course. I had heard these things before. They get sick until they've been in preschool awhile. Sick until they hit kindergarten. Sick through kindergarten but done by 6. Year after year I have had high hopes that Claire would fit some sort of standard mold, but year after year my hopes have been dashed usually starting around Halloween time.

So why should I expect anything different this year? I shouldn't and was glad I wasn't expecting anything different because sure enough, just like the last 3 years around Halloween time, sickness hits the Lynn household.

Truly I was hoping it was just strep again. The last 2 Halloweens have been ushered in with strep. Claire had been complaining about a sore throat. Then she developed a mild cough. Then a mild fever, then a croupy cough, then a higher fever. And then began the barfing. I've become a bit of a pro dealing with this now. Although my eyes are glazed over still trying to sleep, I can manage to get the wash started, keep the bathroom cloroxed, barf bowl clean and back to Claire in the 10-15 minutes I have.

Oh and let us not forget, of course, that this all happens after the day that the entire house got scrubbed, vacuumed, and every piece of bedding washed/changed. Nice.

And so I am suffering from the Barfin' Blues. I couldn't help but cry some today wondering what I am supposed to learn from a child that throws up every 10-15 minutes for 5-8 hours straight. Perhaps the fact that Claire weeped and wailed about not going to school added to these blues. Because, when probed about just what it was she was so upset about missing she said, "I will just miss Mrs. Henderson so much!" The tears weren't for mom who was cleaning up, exhausted, and feeling yucky herself. It wasn't even that she wanted mom. She was missing her beloved teacher. Actually, I probably would cry too if I didn't get to go to Mrs. Henderson's class. She is so wonderful. In fact, I was probably subconciously crying she couldn't be there too because at least it meant that if Claire was at school, I wouldn't be home running the barf bowl back and forth.

Yet I know my blues primarily come from the fact that I can do nothing to help my child. I can't answer her desperate pleas of "Why mom, why? Why do I throw up so much? Why do I get sick?" I can't ease her pain. I can barely hold her anymore because she's so grown up. I have to watch her be brave as I tell her she has to wait 30 minutes before she can have some 7-up. Watching my child suffer to any degree yanks and tugs on my heart. I can't really do much to help her, just be there. And for me this is something that is hard to do.

In reality, I don't mind the throwing up so much. In fact, it'll make hilarious stories some day. Or perhaps she'll get in the Guiness Book of World Records for throwing up. I've gotten used to it. But I haven't gotten used to the fact that I don't have Mommy Magic. You remember those times, when kisses healed boo-boos, when an M&M served as the magic medicine to make those owies go away, when a band-aid was the magic blanket that would fix a scrape in a couple of days if left to snooze under it. Now I sit on the edge of my daughter's bed and try to think of ways to ease her burden as I hear her say, "Mommy, it's no fun being sick."

Then saddened by the fact that I can't fix her owies I kiss her on her hot forehead and tip toe out of the room hoping she'll rest, only to hear her whisper, "Mom, come rub my back." So I sit beside her once again and gently rub her back and as she drifts in and out of sleep she smiles a tiny bit and says, "That helps me feel better." Then a tiny smile forms at the edges of my mouth because maybe, just maybe, the Mommy Magic is still there.