A year ago Bridget and I almost spent Christmas in the hospital. She had been so healthy and then BAM! A week before Christmas she was so sick we almost lost her. Again. That she was discharged on Christmas Eve was all the gift we needed.
2015 has been a good year for Bridget. No hospitalizations. Her doctor’s visits have been uneventful. Kindergarten started and she has made friends. We are merrily living our life and I was just starting to feel like we did not just survive 2015. We triumphed over it.
Last week Bridget got a cold. I went into panic mode, without even realizing it. I turned up the baby monitor. I checked her continuously for a fever. I medicated her, I cuddled her and I pushed the fluids. I canceled her pool therapy,not wanting her to get a chill.
Because one daughter had the freaking sniffles. She didn’t even have a fever.
Contrast that to her older sister who the week before complained of a sore throat, a headache and belly ache. A general, I don’t feel good. She wasn’t medicated. I didn’t lose sleep or even think about canceling an after-school activity.
Talk about being the Jeckyll & Hyde of motherhood. I know it is beyond foolish, and irrational. That I would think just because she has a runny nose my mind jumps to last year when she was feverish and dehydrated. Two completely different scenarios. All children get colds. I was overreacting but couldn’t stop myself from the memories of her young life. Times when I thought we were okay and heartbreaking news was delivered.
Sniffles should be a piece of cake for us. I should be chuckling that Bridget is doing something normal. I should be overjoyed that she can say to me, “I sick” as she curls in my arms.
I keep thinking life with Bridget will get easier. That there will not be calm before the storm, just the calm. A time when I get to breeze through her life.
Then she gets the sniffles.