He Is Me, and I'm Sorry

The only thing worse for a parent than watching your sick child suffer is watching your sick child who is suffering because of your genetic contribution.

My son has come down with a nasty cold, possibly even the flu, but it's made much worse because his postnasal drip is upsetting his stomach and making him nauseous to the point of vomiting. Which is 100% my genetic contribution. Which means not only am I responsible for causing it, but also that I know exactly how miserable it is, because I go through the same thing every time I get a bad cold. His feeling horrible makes me feel even more horrible.

There's a special circle of parental hell for those of us who passed on any kind of genetic weakness. In my (and my son's) case, it's a sensitive stomach. It means that he gets carsick on a regular basis, that he suffers from sympathetic vomiting, and that any degree of stuffiness results in an upset stomach and - yet again - vomiting. Basically, every time my kid throws up, I feel guilty and responsible.

I suppose the advantages are that a) I take his complaints very seriously, and b) I know what works for me, so I know some good solutions to try, from Alka Seltzer Cold to frozen ginger ale to keeping a tiny bit of food in my/his stomach to (as my mom always said) "blow, don't snuff!!". But it doesn't make me feel any less guilty.

What I remember most about being sick as a kid includes three things: 1) lying on the couch watching terrible daytime TV, including The Price Is Right and Days of Our Lives, 2) scraping bits of frozen ginger ale out of my dad's hammered silver baby cup, and 3) my dad telling me, "I wish I was sick instead of you." I never really understood #3 until I had kids of my own, but now I do. I would give anything to be able to take my kids' sickness away, even to the point of being sick myself. My heart absolutely breaks watching my children be miserable, and I would take on that sickness for them in a heartbeat. But I can't do that. The best I can do is to bring them frozen ginger ale and toast, to rub their backs, to rub their foreheads with cool washcloths, and to dose them with ibuprofen or cough & cold medicine or whatever they can tolerate. And then I can just sit with them and sympathize.

But if my memory of my own childhood is correct, having a sympathetic adult sit with you is incredibly comforting. So I sit with my son, re-filling his ice water, wiping his forehead with a cool, damp washcloth, rubbing his back or his forehead, reading him stories or playing him music, feeling helpless but doing whatever I can, and mostly, just being there. Because him knowing that I'm there, trying to help, caring, loving him, makes a difference.

It may not make his body better, but it will touch his heart and his soul, and that is what moms do.

With You

There may be nothing more painful for a parent than watching his or her child suffer – whether from a tummy ache, a broken heart, or a life-threatening medical condition – and not being able to do anything about it. I was reminded of that fact this morning when I woke up to the sound of hysterical screaming at 3am. I raced down the hall to find my daughter sitting up in her perspiration-soaked bed, coughing (a horrible, croup-y, phlegm-filled hacking) so hard that she nearly made herself throw up, sobbing hysterically, and shaking. I held her in my arms and rocked her to calm her down while I offered her whatever I could think of to help. She didn’t want a drink of water, she adamantly refused to take any medicine, she didn't want a cool washcloth, she didn’t want music on, she didn’t want to stay in her bed, she didn’t want to sleep in the guest room. Finally I asked her if there was anything she wanted. Through her tears, she clung tightly to my neck and croaked out, “With you, Mama.”

I was offering her the world, but all she wanted to make herself feel better was to be with me.

So often as parents, we want to offer our kids everything we can think of. We want to give them the best toys, the most delicious and healthiest foods, the most comfortable homes, the coolest wardrobes, the best education, the nicest friends, the most fun classes and clubs and activities. And we’re frustrated with ourselves when we feel like we’re falling short of that goal. But all too often, we forget that what our children want most of all is just to be with us. To play with us, to talk to us, to spend time with us, to get to know us, to love us, and to be loved by us. Our mere presence is comforting, reassuring, educational, inspiring pride and ambition. Being THERE is much more important than being anything else.

So, at 3am, I trudged downstairs and stretched out on the couch with a hot little human bundle clinging to me like a limpet, her face nuzzled into my shoulder and her soft hair trailed across my face. I stroked her warm back and felt her body relax and her choked coughing settle into a gentle, sleeping gurgle. She had found the place where she knew she would be cared for, protected, and kept safe, the place where she was happy and loved. And so had I.

With you.