Well, the weird summer cold/flu virus that's been working its way around the country and around the blogosphere apparently decided that yesterday was my turn. You knew I had to be sick, right? I always post on weekdays, otherwise. :)
To be fair, I had some warning, in the form of mild cold symptoms that started late last week. My SIL warned me that my brother's bout with this thing started that way, too, and then ramped up to much worse after a few days. I took the warning seriously--I went out and bought actual juice! I even drank some of it. That's enough, isn't it?
Wrong. I woke up yesterday wondering how I'd gotten stuck to the bed, why my head was pounding and my back and neck aching, speculating on the origins of the waves of bitter metallic nausea that were taking all the fun out of being in bed, and wishing I knew who had packed my sinus cavities with C-4.
I decided to remain in bed, and by "decided" I of course mean, "accepted the inevitable after realizing that a mere trip across the room left the room spinning like a drunken sailor and made those waves of nausea threaten to crest in a most disturbing way." I'd love to tell you that I quickly remembered to offer the whole thing up, but I think it took a few of those dizzy weird dozes complete with strange sick-dreams before I was coherent enough to do so.
I did have a lot of time for reflection, and one of the things I reflected the most on is what a blessing it is to have daughters.
Now, I'm not saying sons aren't also a huge blessing, as I'm sure they are--I just don't have any, myself. And having three girls means having three born nurses, three natural nurturers, three sets of concerned eyes and helpful hands, which all comes in pretty handy when Mom is sick.
They brought me ice for the pounding head, and soda and crackers for the nausea. They made sure I took aspirin at appropriate intervals, and checked in on me often enough that I knew they were fine, but not so often that I couldn't sleep. They kept each other entertained and out of trouble, and when it was time to start making dinner they made, with minimal directions, a complete meal: Kitten made baked chicken with Cajun seasoning, Bookgirl used the vegetable steamer to make broccoli, and Hatchick manned the rice cooker to provide fluffy white rice for the meal. I was so proud, even though I couldn't join them in eating any of it.
During dinner Kitten came back in to make sure I didn't need anything. I tried to tell her that I was fine, but she gave me a knowing look, and walked over to the bookshelf next to my bed where the most recent glass of soda, mostly untouched, was standing.
"Mom," she said decisively, "this is warm. And flat. You can't possibly drink it." And she marched out to replace it with a fresh cold glass, glistening with condensation.
I murmured to them last night that they were wonderful helpers, and that I was proud of them. I said it again this morning, though I think they're all glad that I'm feeling well enough to be out of bed again. I'm glad I had the opportunity to get a sneak peek at just how well they're all going to do some day in their own vocations, whether they are moms or nuns or called to the single life. For now, though, I think they're equally glad that they only had to be mom for a day.