Mother’s Day is for mothers.
I am one. And for Mother’s Day, I got to be a mother.
The more I type the word “mother,” the weirder it looks.
Maybe that’s why everyone says: Mom, Mommy, or Momma.
But I digress.
Mother’s Day started for me on Saturday. I mean, after all, why shouldn’t you be celebrated the WHOLE weekend long!
First let me mention that Mattie is in the hospital yet again. This time with H-flu. (Good news, he’s doing much better, Bad news, well the hospital is just bad news.)
Saturday morning John left bright and early for a concert that he bought tickets to ages ago. (With my smiley-faced blessing I might add.)
As soon as I got the littles down for some quiet time (two of them had pretty snotty noses and coughs), and Isabelle snug in my bed for a nap (she had been complaining of an upset stomach), I left to spend a few hours with Mattie.
I got home in time to get them all dinner and ready for bed. As we finished dinner, I decided that I needed to have Emma and Aiden checked over at Urgent Care. (Especially considering Mattie had just been diagnosed with H-flu).
I loaded them up at 7PM, and did the whole Urgent Care thing. (Pretty much just viral, but Emma did have an ear infection.)
At 8AM I texted John, “Hey, how’s it going?”
His response, “I’m throwing up.”
Not good. I called him. He was so ill that he was literally in the truck in the parking garage laying on the seat unable to even drive.
So I loaded up Aiden and Emma from Urgent Care and drove 30 minutes to pick John up and bring him home.
The whole way there, I answered an endless stream of question: What’s wrong with Daddy? Why? Where are we going? Why? Why is he sick? We’re not going home? Why? Is it bedtime? Why are we going on this road? Why?
I picked John up and took them all home.
By 9PM, I help roll John’s carcass into bed, got him some ginger ale, and had tucked the Little snug in their beds.
I went to check on Isabelle, she was burning up with a fever and holding her right side, complaining that she couldn’t even move because the pain was so bad.
I reached down to my right side and felt the scar where I my appendectomy had been, and I promptly loaded her up and took her to the emergency room.
We spend the next 8 hours in the ER, while various texts were done. Thankfully it was not her appendix and the pain began to subside by morning.
The ER doc informed me that 60% of all abdominal pain that comes into the ER is never diagnosed.
I rolled into bed on Mother’s Day at 6:15AM, grateful that whatever evil food poisoning had overtaken my husband earlier seemed to have left his body.
I stayed in the bed for the next 6 hours, and then kind of drug myself around the rest of the day.
I sat in a lawn chair. Emma asked, “What are you doing? I said, “Sitting in a lawn chair.” She said, “What are you doing?” (Apparently, I don’t sit doing nothing very much.)
John is adamant that I will get a “do-over” Mother’s Day.
I’m fine with that, but really I was ok with it the way it was, just being the Mom.
It’s who I am.