Notes from the Infirmary

We’ve been slammed this week by a wicked cold. Stella and I have coughed and hacked enough for all of Rhode Island, and we’re just now feeling like we might be slightly human by the end of the weekend.

I have learned a few things this week that are worthy of stuffed-up celebration. The bright side of the story is that I am no longer panicking over every rise and dip of Stella’s fevers. I know I’ll never like that she’s feverish. But I now know to simply ride out the day (or week) in our pajamas and let the little one punk out on my shoulder.

Oh, and I now fully embrace my status as a woman who stuffs her tissues into her sleeve. Sister O’Dea, wherever you are, you may have given me the brutally administered gifts of grammatical and literary prowess in high school, but you also unknowingly bestowed up on me the subtle (and slightly disgusting) gift of the tissue-sleeve-tuck. I’m simultaneously grossed out and amused by this.

This week also helped me conquer my fear of letting Stella watch a DVD. No, we’re not watching Jaws quite yet (or ever?) and we’re not really into television (don’t have it) or movies with kids (don’t need it), but we did enjoy several installments of our beloved bear video. And it’s funny, because Stella seems to understand this disc only appears when she’s feeling crummy. She schlepped her feverish little body onto the couch, hunkered down and meekly pointed at the bears, ducks, moose and whatchyamacallits that slowly ambled by the camera to goofy but lovably catchy tunes. A rest for one wet rag or a baby, and a rest for one wet rag of a mama.

Oh, and did I mention that in the course of about an hour earlier this week, I totally lost my cool, snapped at Stella, completely fell apart, sobbed about ruining my sweet girl for all eternity and then realized – through the help of a dear friend and my sweet, sweet husband - that even good moms lose their cool. Even good moms snap. And even good moms feel like crap when there’s no time or room to feel like crap. All in a day’s work, right? What a job. What a life.

The final silver (yet painful) lining is that I’ve realized I need to finally write about food. Yes, food. I’ve been avoiding writing about the topic of food, mothering and my own history since it’s been done, it’s a topic impossible to tackle in one sitting and it’s frankly a bit terrifying for me. But that’s all a bunch of hooey when it comes to the reality of raising a child – a girl no less – in a home where my own issues with food, past and present, don’t get in the way of my beautiful babe’s health, body image and sense of self. Seeing myself struggle unreasonably this week as Stella lost all her appetite and subsisted for three days on a half a cup of bunny crackers and a few sips of water was telling. And if I’m honest, this struggle has accompanied me on this mama journey since the day Stella was born and found latching on so challenging. Hell, it's been with me since I was a wee babe myself. So I guess I’ll dive in. Or rather, I need to dive in. I have no idea what will come of this observation, and I have no idea if what emerges will be too raw (or raw enough?) for this site, but it feels necessary and important.

So once this snoogy fog lifts, I’ll be back in full form. Oh, how I miss clarity, energy and healthy. But really, a good ol’ smack to the immune system makes you appreciate the good life, don’t it? Wash those hands, my peeps, (Wash’em!), and may you all enjoy good health.