I am not much company today. My head aches a new, pressured ache, the kind the comes from sticking out a cold that actually requires medical intervention. Clearly infection has set in and fortunately for me I have unearthed a long forgotten, but not past the expiration date, stash of antibiotics for just such an occasion (a rare filled-but-ended-up-not-needing prescription). I just started them and I am bone tired, my stomach already protesting their presence. Our bodies are all tired, housing guests that require more attention than we have wanted to give. The first of these was the 'fever/runny nose/cough' that came and went without much fanfare for weeks on end but not without harvesting the last vestiges of precious sleep. Then there was the bout of constipation (my eldest daughter, not mine) that consumed our house for a couple of days (she's not the silent suffering type) and ended up requiring, er, serious intervention that shall not be discussed here. Finally, the dreaded stomach bug that has been marauding around town showed up and decided to pick on Ellie. Every 40-60 minutes or so she would writhe in her sleep and then deposit what little she had in her stomach on the towels we lined up around her, which was enough to trip my hyper vigilant tendency throughout the night to ensure that she wasn't aspirating or throwing up on both of us.
B has been working throughout most of this as he maintains his position as 'head of the household' (although we both work 40 hours?). He does his best to replenish saltines, take the less sick child out so I can rest, and continue to tell me how great I am. I don't feel great in my fuzzy socks and matted hair but it's nice to be told so. Regardless, he will always be considered second choice when illness strikes and even if I were Secretary of State I believe I would still be cleaning up barf (this statement was confirmed by the fact that my daughter waited an hour for me on the throne as I commuted home from work).
The days drag on and offer little relief. I am lonely. There is the constant whir of the washing machine, dryer and dishwasher to keep me company, of course, but as the light grows dim and ends another day that I've spent in "lounge wear", I can't help but feel a little sorry for myself. The easiest thing for me to do in these moments is to try to keep myself from feeling this way - read something, watch something, try to rationalize my feelings away - anything but actually feeling. Fortunately for me I am distracted by requests - television shows, videos, puzzles, play-doh and meals.
Ellie's stomach has finally stopped protesting and she has decided she is hungry. I offer her the list of safe foods I recall from the BRATY diet first encountered in Dr. Sear's baby book years ago (B- bananas, R-Rice, A-apples, T- toast, Y-Yogurt). Her eyes beam with excitement as she asks for "RICE! I just LOVE your rice!" I prepare basic white rice for her, with a dash of salt, and she savors each bite. I want to savor life like that - even the basic white rice. She isn't thinking of the dinner she lost on the sheets last night or of the things she cannot eat, but of the beautiful bowl of fluffy goodness laid out before her. I am inspired.
I do my best to get back to the basics and conserve my energy, shoving a forkful of white rice in my mouth. I seldom allow myself to eat it now that I have ingested large quantities of health literature discussing the consequences of consuming white rice (everything from increasing risk of diabetes to instigating disapproving stares from your more savvy, nutrition-conscious peers). I savor the grains and remember when my mom made me the same meal to calm my weary stomach. The kitchen is quiet and we are sitting across from each other, eating rice, recovering, and getting basic.
