The Resiliency of the Young Human

With four young kids and one on the way, I'm constantly amazed at the resiliency of kids. They fall off of the couch, land on a pile of legos, make a fuss for a second, and start playing again. I once watched my daughter riding with her bottom on the back of a skateboard fall off, skid mercilessly on a patch of bare back skin where her shirt flew up, mouth the word "Owie!!" and run after the skateboard again. I later looked at her back, and the poor thing had a serious case of road rash. If these had been me in either of these cases, I would be grounded, muffling back the urge to curse, cry or both. And then I would've been not hurt, but angry about it for days. Because when you turn a certain age, with a certain amount of children, injuries aren't so much painful as they are irritating and/or maddening. Especially the kind with legos involved.

As a mom, and a would-be healer, I tell myself with much truth and self fulfilling prophecy that I do not get sick. I just don't. I might feel crappy for a couple days, my energy might take a dive, I may very well need to take a vitamin, but I, myself, do not ever catch the flu (it's all a conspiracy to keep us fearful and dependent on modern medicine anyway). Once a year I get a sore throat, a few other symptoms, but nothing to really boil soup for.

I can always tell when one of my kids is truly sick. They can't help it, they slow down, turn into zombies, and reject the idea of food. Usually there is a fever involved when this happens. My kids are coughers....they are not pukers. I know for some families, vomiting is THE symptom of sickness, and there is lots of it, but with us, we wheeze, produce copious amounts of mucous, and cough like we're chain smokers. When one of my kids pukes, it's really bizarre and thusly frightening.

The kids came home from their dads last night and Sophia, my four year old, wasn't feeling good. I guess she had some McDonalds (coincidence...I think not) for lunch and when she didn't finish her double cheeseburger, her dad saved it for her to eat for dinner as well, which of course she was probably stoked about. Then the vomiting came. She puked about three times in his care, so I was on guard and a little freaked out when it was time to eat dinner. I just gave her some saltines and water, asked her to eat and sip slowly and take her time...which she did. I put her to bed and she returned, needing another drink and nibble. She mumbled something and I turned to see her holding her mouth and saying "I'm gonna towup" through her hand cups. I directed her to the toilet and watched. Sure enough, the flood gates opened and what seemed like an unnatural amount of fluid/goop came rushing out of her mouth like a geyser. My heart broke, right then and there. Watching someone vomiting is a scary thing...especially if it's your own child who you've never seen it happen to before.

After a good cuddle, she was ready to return to bed, talking quite happily and taking it all in stride. All night I tossed and turned and worried about her. I checked on her several times, sleeping cozily next to her stainless steel just-in-case vomit bowl, shiny and empty. When she appeared on the stairs at 6:30am like every morning, I could hear her talking to her step dad Reggie. He had asked how she was feeling...and in her sweet beautiful voice I could hear her reply "I feel good!" She cuddled with me for a while and we talked before the boys got up for school. I was once again amazed at her ability to recover. Where I thought she'd stumble up the stairs dehydrated, weak and sore...she was energetic, contented and only hungry. I'm knocking on wood, it's almost 1pm, there is no puke in sight, she's sleeping like a little kitten, tummy full of strawberries, shredded wheat, yogurt smoothie and a piece of bacon, none of which I'd like to contend with on a return trip to the carpet or my bed, where she is currently napping. But I think she's gonna make it...and I think I'm gonna make it...I only wish I had her resiliency.