Amor Chiquito is sick. She, like the rest of us, had a stomach bug a few days back. She also has a cold (cough, runny nose, fever, etc.).
I was holding her, walking and singing the nighttime song, as one of us does each and every night. She started to cough. She threw up, big time. What little she had eaten today came out. The stuff was on my shirt, on her clothes, on the floor, and, best of all, on my hair.
There I was, letting her throw up on my shirt trying to avoid a mess (she kept throwing up and walking!). Then, there I was, kneeling on the bathroom floor, unbuttoning her very dirty sweater, telling her she was ok, wiping her face...
I never thought that I would put my hands in a puddle of vomit, that I would find vomit on my hair, and that I would not think anything of it. Three years ago, I would have been 100% disgusted. Instead, I had an indescribable feeling on my chest, a desire to hug her tight, and all that was going on in my head was “I wish I could make you feel better; I wish I could make it go away, my baby girl.”
Parenting has changed my life so much. This is only one story, the latest of many.
I am hoping that Amor Chiquito feels better soon. At the same time, I am counting my blessings because I know this is nothing. My heart aches for the kiddos that throw up routinely because of chemo and for the fact that that is a relatively small concern in those kids’ parents’ lives.