Local Grandma Kicks Ass, Takes Names

Which is worse? Having to take care of a sick child before she knows how to aim, or being sick yourself, with two small children to take care of?

Sassy had the barfing flu earlier this week. Thinking I was immune to this type of thing, because I Am Mommy, Hear Me Roar, it didn't even occur to me that the Mighty (Me) could fall. Hugging the toiletbowl yesterday morning for several hours seems to have proven me wrong. Yet again. Where is all this mother's intuition I thought I had? It must have been flushed down yesterday morning.

So there's poor Sassy, unsure of what Preschooler etiquette is in these situations, watching me in this, the most vulnerable of positions, so she starts to cry. In between sessions, I'm trying to comfort her in all my cold sweaty glory, and I finally make it into my bed. So she tries to crawl in with me (is she comforting me or herself? At this point the lines are blurred) and just then it hits me again, only I've been wise enough to put a receptable within arms' reach. I'm curled around the bowl, she's in the bed with me, holding my hand and crying her eyes out. In a sitation like this, there's only one thing a grown woman could do.

I called my Mommy. Who was there within 20 minutes, with enough time to get Captain Picklepants off the bus, make lunch, read books and generally not neglect them as I would have done had been alone.

She did proceed to tell me all about her own incidents of stomach upset, through all seven of her pregnancies, in detail. What sort of receptacle she herself used, where she usually ended up, was it a lot or a little, etc. Which was such a comfort to hear. However. The person who does the favor gets to call the shots, so I just tried to tune it out.

Still, it brought up an interesting point. Which is to say, I am a total baby when it comes to this kind of thing. Let's compare: when she had my twin sisters, there were four other kids already, and my oldest sister was five, at the time. Six kids, under the age of five (plus my brother and I still to come). When she had morning sickness, there was no-one to call, she was usually on a military base, so she might've had a little help. For the most part though, she had to do it all herself. Ergo. Me = Big Wuss.

But. She came. She did dishes, fed my kids, and played with them when I couldn't. They watched a little more tv than is normal, but so what? They were fed, clothed, relatively clean and happy, and it had nothing to do with me.

I could've done without her puke stories, though. It almost made me go back for Round 47.

I hope none of you were reading this while eating breakfast. If so, I apologize. But did I ever tell you about another time I was sick and I had to grab the...