It’s that time of the year, I suppose. The time when I fear leaving the house, knowing that at some point my baby will catch some virus that will turn my home into a jail cell with which I won’t be able to leave. As a working mom my time at home is something that I usually look forward to, however, there is something about being forced to stay home that makes me feel a little suffocated. The days I want to stay home, I am unable to do so and when I’m forced to be here all I want to do is leave.
And so here I sit. In the same spot on my bed that I have been sitting for the past 13 hours, only allowed a quick moment to grab my patient a drink or to use the restroom. I forget that as awful as these days seem, they also remind me of why I’m doing this motherhood thing in the first place. Jane. My usually sweet, somewhat sassy, but always entertaining 2 1/2 year old daughter, who lays lethargic in my arms and keeps her eyes closed for most of the day. She looks so helpless, so drained. I’m reminded of a time when I would lay in my mother’s arms, in much the same way, weirdly those are some of my favorite memories.
Every so often I get a grunt or a tired sounding “Love you, Mom,” and suddenly it doesn’t feel much like a jail sentence anymore.
Kim Ngarupe, Mother of 1 and 1/2, Provo, Utah