Every Mom knows, the needs of the sweet little person she brought into this world come first. Even if she is sweating buckets with a 40 degree fever, feeling like her head will explode if the pounding doesn't stop, she's got to suck it up buttercup, put on her big girl panties and tend to her child, because who else is going to take care of business?
This Mom is often a one-woman show and even if she is suffering, must use her mental and emotional capacity (thank-you Bikram) to push through whatever ails her and make sure her princess is bathed, fed and nurtured (in Maya's case, until far past her bedtime). Last night, nurturing consisted of planting my bottom on the couch, Maya's bottom in my lap and sitting still for countless hours of mind-numbing television and my stunning nursery rhyme vocals. By 10 pm, I had managed to consume only some toast with peanut butter and a cup of tea for dinner, as that's all I could prepare with Maya balanced precariously on one arm. By 11:30 pm, my fever at an all-time high and shaking with chills, my composure failed me and the tears began to flow.
On the upside, I have mastered the important skill of holding the need to pee for over eight hours! This is merely a minor addition to my expanding repertoire of survival techniques, which I must keep finely honed as I am on my own with her highness often.
Maya's Daddy was busy performing life-saving surgeries all night (don't his patients realize I have needs too), so he was of no use to me until he came home this morning to my corpse-like visage, pasty and feverish, with Maya tucked into my clammy body. He demanded that I pop some pills and take the day off -- from life; I thought, not going to happen. He was expected at work again in a couple of hours and I was adamant he was not going to make up a day of work because I was careless enough to let myself get sick. So, sufficiently dosed with painkillers, I ushered him out the door to work, showered the horrendous night off me, got Maya dressed and took her to daycare.
And then the tears resurfaced. My morning mocha slowed them down, but they still fell. I felt anger boiling up inside me and self-pity at being left to fend largely for myself in Edmonton. Maya's grandparents on both sides may delight in their time with her when we visit Vancouver, but should probably start making more of an effort to hall ass to Edmonton before I disown them.
I wouldn't have to put up with this shit if I were a Kardashian; sure, I might be somewhat more vapid and self-indulgent than at present, but at least I'd have my family around me, all the time, even to a suffocating extent, which I never thought I would desire but, trust me, it trumps the alternative.
Through the unexpected trials of being a new Mommy in a new city, I've learned to really value anyone who wants to come close enough to take care of me a little. However selfish I was before taking on parenthood, I can't be anymore. I am a Mommy and will be forever (don't forget Mom, so are you). Even when my kids are my age, I'll still nurture them. I'm not that hard done by; I still find small moments like sitting at the salon for a couple of hours every few months or tucking into a booth at Starbucks for an hour or two whenever I can to keep me sane. Most of my "me" time is at yoga, but even there, I'm always open to taking care of others.
So maybe next time I'm sick to the point where my husband's colleagues suggest I check myself into the hospital, I'll let myself take a day off. It might just be time to check myself before I wreck myself; got to stay on top of my game. Maya is just a fledgling diva; she needs a good role model to take her to the next level.
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