Believe you, me

I used to say “being a mom was the most selfless job” to any mother I met, it became my intro line. As much as I always wanted to be a mother, more than anything I wanted to be accepted as a good mother. I praised any woman I met who was raising a child. I wanted so badly for them to like me. See to me, mothers were the ultimate hero, an idol whose affection I so desperately wanted.

But today was the first time I think I truly understood what I was saying. Today was a tough day. Two nights ago, I noticed my son was coughing in his sleep. It sounded like a “sick cough” and not a “dry mouth” cough. I ignored it, because come on now, can you really tell the difference in coughs? I knew what my partner would say, he was fine, and it would be dismissed. So, I casually mentioned it and went to bed. The next morning when I woke up, I went into his room and picked him up as usual. He felt warm in my hands. I touched his forehead to my lips and said “he has a fever” but I said nothing aloud because I didn’t want to be that neurotic mother.. I took his temp anyway and it was 99.1, a little warm, but a shot of Tylenol and some cool water should bring it down. But all day it nagged at me. He is sick, I know he is.

Something in my head told me to pick him up early and when I walked in the daycare room, I knew something was off. My normally happy, smiley, running into my arms baby was cradled in the teacher’s lap, barely lifting his head to greet me. I immediately thought “shit” and I made the appointment on the way home. Got him changed and some cool water. I sent an email off to the daycare “was he hot all day? Did he eat well? Has he had water?” back in the car, paying the outstanding bill online to insure they see us, checking in the appointment via text, firing off a text to the wife, grandma and auntie, checking the mirror while navigating traffic. We get inside and I recite the symptoms like a drill sergeant, Tylenol last administered 40 mins ago, temp was 102, dry diaper.  They she says it. “Most likely RSV” my brain immediately calls forward the file marked “RSV” in my brain and begins scanning symptoms, treatments, worst case scenarios.  I hear the doctor say, “there really is no treatment” and know this will get worse before it gets better.

Now it’s go time, home, Tylenol, cool bath, honey, humidifier, temp check, catch up wife, sleep by 6:30pm.

Only then, did I cry.

 And before you say it, yes, I know some days will be harder than others, yes, I know he will recover. That’s not why I cried, yes it did break my heart to see my baby sick and I was worried and anxious. I cried because it was the first time in the day that I could step back into myself. For me, being a mom means sometimes I must detach from who I am at my core. I must pull myself up by the back of the neck, bit the inside of my cheek to hold in the tears and force myself to transform into a superhuman version of who I truly am.  

I’m working on listening to myself. There is so much doubt in being a parent, did I handle that correctly? Was that the right decision? Should I do this? Or that? I envy the women who can move through life not caring what others think, not worrying that her parenting is being questioned. One day, I will get there, because above it all, I know that my son will always be able to say, “my mom was there” and I will be proud of that.

So the next time I see a mom and I clutch my pearls and give her my recited statement about being selfless, I will know that it’s not only selflessness, its sacrifice, its going beyond yourself, its finding strength when you have none, courage when you are terrified and keeping your feet firmly planted when you want to hit the ground. It’s fighting the urge to ignore your gut, just so others won’t say you’re overreacting. If there is a cross to bear, the mother will carry it.

To the mamas fighting back tears in waiting rooms, cars, nurseries, pharmacy parking lots and cold offices. I see you mama and not only as I proud, but I believe in you.