Some of my fondest memories as a young girl stem from moments that were uncomfortable, scary and sickening (literally). I say fond because in those moments of the unknown, even for a split second, I had my mom. And because of her, those moments provided me comfort, love and relief.
The past seven days haven't been fun. They haven't been easy. They haven't been clean. They've been quite the opposite.
I meant to post this at 3:30am, but realized that my own body needed to sleep for just a few hours.
James was up again last night--sick as can be and there was nothing that I, nor Jamie could do to stop him from vomiting. And all the while this is going on, I kept questioning myself. "What can I do?" "What position should he be in to feel the most comfortable?" "Is there a way I can help him not feel so nauseated?"
I came up short. I didn't have the correct answers. But what I did have were the words my mom always repeated to me, "You're okay. You're okay."
And in that exact moment, as James stared back at me with tear-filled eyes that only screamed terror, I knew that I wasn't just saying it to him, I was saying it to calm my own mind.
We kept him vertical for quite some time. We changed his clothes four times and then decided to finally keep him in just a diaper to alleviate him and the amount of puke-filled outfits that would later visit the washer.
Jamie laid back down. And I finally eased my way down to the overheated bathroom tile as the fan oscillated back and forth to regulate his temperature. Finally, he stopped. He pressed his forehead against mine and hung over me like a wet blanket. Calm. Peaceful. I stayed there awhile longer. Holding him. Praying.
Although this was a nightmare---it was a moment of clarity as I knew there was purpose for me in caring for him.
The past seven days haven't been fun. They haven't been easy. They haven't been clean. They've been quite the opposite.
I meant to post this at 3:30am, but realized that my own body needed to sleep for just a few hours.
James was up again last night--sick as can be and there was nothing that I, nor Jamie could do to stop him from vomiting. And all the while this is going on, I kept questioning myself. "What can I do?" "What position should he be in to feel the most comfortable?" "Is there a way I can help him not feel so nauseated?"
I came up short. I didn't have the correct answers. But what I did have were the words my mom always repeated to me, "You're okay. You're okay."
And in that exact moment, as James stared back at me with tear-filled eyes that only screamed terror, I knew that I wasn't just saying it to him, I was saying it to calm my own mind.
We kept him vertical for quite some time. We changed his clothes four times and then decided to finally keep him in just a diaper to alleviate him and the amount of puke-filled outfits that would later visit the washer.
Jamie laid back down. And I finally eased my way down to the overheated bathroom tile as the fan oscillated back and forth to regulate his temperature. Finally, he stopped. He pressed his forehead against mine and hung over me like a wet blanket. Calm. Peaceful. I stayed there awhile longer. Holding him. Praying.
Although this was a nightmare---it was a moment of clarity as I knew there was purpose for me in caring for him.