Mothering by Text

24 Feb

When each of my kids was about 4 or 5, they all managed at least one night when they wandered into my bedroom, walked around the bed (Dad’s side was closer to the door) and said “Mommy, I feel……BARF!!!”  And, then the day would begin. Nothing like a little barf to start your day. No other smell lingers and permeates like the smell of vomit. If the military would capture that smell,  pump it through the mountains of Afghanistan, I feel certain the Taliban would surrender.

While I don’t miss those precious moments of sharing, I must say when my daughter called this past weekend and had tossed her cookies, my heart skipped a beat.  On Saturday, she seemed like she was going to be o.k. She actually went to the store, snagging Saltines, Jello, Sprite and assorted soup. But it was not to be. The Jello bounced out of her stomach and nothing else chose to stay. She prayed to the porcelain god all day. I think to myself and assure her, it is probably just a 24 hour bug and you will probably start feeling better tomorrow.

Sunday arrives. She is trying very hard not to vomit. She is one with the sofa.  But the stomach wins and tosses her cookies, the cookie crumbs, her spleen, even her toe nails. Everything feels as if her stomach is turning inside out and exiting the body.

If there is technology which will allow me to teleporte – right now would be a good time to share.  I am panicking. I am worried. I would like to be there. Check the flights – nothing till the evening.1200 miles feels like 12 million miles away.

Thankfully her god mother, my cousin, whom she calls her Aunt comes to the rescue. She takes her to the E.R. where she is given meds for the nausea, fluids through an I.V. and dextrose for her plummeted blood sugar. I don’t know whether my cousin was wearing a super hero cape, but she even stopped for P.F. Chang’s wonton soup on the drive back to her apartment.  She sat with my daughter while she showered and changed into clean jammies. She reassured her, she fed her, she mothered her. She didn’t need a cape to be a hero that day.

And, I feel incredibly grateful to her for being that person to my daughter. I wish I could have been there. I could not have healed her. But, it is just being there. Holding the hand, smoothing the hair, rewetting the wash cloth on the forehead. Those are the moments that define being  a mom. I love when my chicks are in the nest. And, looking down the road, it seems those moments are going to be few and far between.

There are many miles between the three kids, only one in the same city as I am.  I am proud of the adults I see my children becoming. (Well for the most part proud – they all have there moments) But they never stop being your child. I was talking to my mother this weekend and she said she still worries about each of her kids. I am the youngest of the four – in my late 40’s. My mother is 85. That is a lot of worrying left to do.

At least technology allows us to get a blow by blow of their lives. ( Pun intended) Even though she didn’t want to talk (it seemed to make her more nauseated) we could text back and forth all day. And, I know she is feeling better as we skyped this evening. How wonderful to see her, hear her laugh.

But seriously  – we need to work on that teleporting thing.

Flying out Thursday to spend some time with her.

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