It’s no secret that it’s been a challenging few months health-wise in this house. I’m honestly starting to weigh the costs and benefits of the oldest’s time at the germ factory we call preschool. I mean, I *do* want her to learn to read, but I also like being able to breathe through my nose. I’m torn.
And I don’t know about you, but I think back to the days before kids and long wistful for a time when one could recover from the flu by spending a week in bed. Back then, having the flu was like a vacation compared to this torture.
So what exactly am I doing right? I realized this week that I have the medical knowledge befitting a second year medical resident when it comes to my kids and illness. I have dosages memorized for acetaminophen, ibuprofen, benadryl, and sudafed, and know exactly which one to use based on the symptoms. I can keep a running record of times medication was dosed for each of us and can identify early symptoms of dehydration and know how to mix my own electrolyte solution. And perhaps most impressively, I have cared for a sick four-year-old, the worst of all patients, with gentle concern and patience. I have changed more dirty diapers this week than I think in the last 4 months combined – something I never thought I’d be able to handle before having kids. All while being sick myself.
In so many moments where I heard my inner-critic whisper, “You can’t do this. It’s too much,” I shut her up with a silent chant of “courage.”
I know that everyone gets sick, and everyone takes care of their sick kids, but this week feels like a triumph for me. Sometimes it’s the little things. Or the things that seem big despite their smallness. Winning those battles is an exercise in courage.
By the way, I saw today courtesy of Chookooloonks. If you don’t know who Ze Frank is, you’re in for a treat!