In the Early Morning

With a plaintiff whimper the quiet of the evening vanished. Miss M, moaning and clutching her belly, sought out Mommy to make things better. Impatiently, I ushered her back to bed, claiming that if she’d just close her eyes and go back to sleep all would be fine in the morning.

It wasn’t.

Moments later her stomach proved just how angry it was, and continued to prove it for almost two hours.

I ran some bath water and helped my oldest child into the tub. We rinsed her hair and scrubbed her face. She continued to whimper.

It’s bad enough when your child is feeling poorly, but when the sickness falls on the eve of Halloween and threatens the much-looked-forward-to festivities of the day, it’s downright heart-breaking.

My body was tired, but my mind went into the mommy-mode of taking care of my child. Fingers feathered over forehead, brushing bangs out of blue eyes. Her body, between purges, draped over mine trying to get closer and closer.

I realized that she doesn’t often get me to herself like that. How sad that she has to wait for an upset stomach at 2 in the morning to get that contact.

She’s so often expected to do more, to know more, to behave better than her siblings. A curse I suppose is typical of the first-born.

As the heaving subsided, her eyelids drooped and signaled that she might drift back into a slumber for what remained of the early morning hours.

I nudged her to her feet and wished that I could pick her up and carry her to her bed. Just a little more than a year ago I still could.

She settled under the sheet with a sigh. I retrieved a cold rag and settled it on her forehead. My hand automatically rubbed her back as her breathing grew deeper and more rhythmic.

As she slipped into sleep I watched her face. I saw a 6-year-old, yet the more I watched I saw that 6-month-old that I rocked to sleep nightly. She’ll always be there too.