Five Minute Friday – Ordinary


It is Friday.  And, on this day hundreds of us gather for the love of writing.  And our lovely hostess of this awesome link-up says this: On Fridays hundreds of writers gather here to write the muse into being. You’re welcome to join from your blog, your pen and paper, your thoughts left in the comments. As long as you write. From anywhere – your desk, your car in the car pool line, your rocking chair with the baby in your arm and you typing on your phone.” – Lisa-Jo Baker  

ORDINARY

GO!!! 

He’s puked for what seems like the thousandth time.  His little head hanging over a bucket as his insides decide they’d rather be outside.  His cheeks are flaming red as fever wages war with the mutant bug that has gripped him since 3PM the day before.

And after the last heave ripples across his back he lifts his sweet head and his beautiful eyes find mine over the top of the bucket. He smiles, his usual full-on grin not quite making its appearance, and says, “I barfed, mommy.”

I wipe the hair back from his hot forehead and smooth the cowlick that is cuteness itself down and murmur “You sure did buddy.”   I settle him back against me on the bed, my arm wrapped around his middle and hold him close to my body, wishing beyond wish that I could put him back in.  At least there he wouldn’t be experiencing this misery.

And this goes on all night, my palm softly on his tummy, feeling the mercenary rumble. And, in between fits and starts of sleep I am holding my son’s head over a bucket, the one I have been able to capture with lightning speed and a  mom’s sixth sense that it will be needed.

And the vomit, it flowed like Vesuvius that night, never ending.  And the weary settled deep and hard right along the worry.  Is he going to be alright? Is he getting enough fluids?  Should I be taking him to the hospital?

And finally 6AM rolls around, he’s managed to keep down a simple sip of apple juice and sleep descends upon him as I watch the fever fade from his cheeks.  And, I feel like I’ve waged a war with a mountain lion and my super-hero mom cape is tattered and shredded.

I head to the bathroom for a much needed shower, because sick boys have a special smell and it is not pretty.  I catch a glimpse of my face in the mirror, the dark circles under my eyes, the pale skin, stretched taut over my forehead — all of it speaking to the tired that leaking out of my bones.

I strip off the offensive pyjamas, turn on the faucet and stand under the stream of hot water with my hands braced against the wall.  “Just another ordinary day in the world of motherhood.” I murmur to myself.

STOP


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