This morning, I walked gently and quietly into my son’s room, hoping and wishing that he was feeling a lot better than he did yesterday. I held my breath, partly because it reeked of sour vomit in there. Yesterday was so hard. Newborn days kind of hard. There was so much crying, and so much vomit.
He was awake, looking up at me with his red swollen eyes. I said “Allo mon amour!” and he replied with vomit. I can tell that he’s better than yesterday, but he can’t go to daycare for sure. He is still running a fever. I ask him if he wants to come out of bed and he answers with a little squeaky “No”.
I go in the kitchen to pace and think. Pace and think. My mother in law told us last night that she could not miss today’s work day, so that’s out. He can’t go to daycare. We have no other family close enough. Julien could take the day off, but then he would still have to drive me to work and come get me, on top of other errands that have to be run today, so that could mean a puke filled car. I could take a second day off in a row to stay home with my sick son, but I’ll be judged by my coworkers.
When Julien walked into the kitchen, I was just standing there crying, not knowing what to do. We decided to get Jerome from his crib and bring him to the living room, to further assess his health and mood. He stayed glued to us and hung on for dear life, like yesterday. When I tried to get up off the couch to pace some more, he started crying. Looking at him with his little red crying face, reaching out for his mama made the decision easy for me.
I have wanted to be a mom for too long to not be a mom when my son needs me. I emailed work to let them know I’d be taking another day at home with my sick child. My beautiful, burning child has stayed glued to me since.
And my insides have been twisted with guilt and anxiety and fear of jugement since.