Mommy’s Sick

I have been sick since the day my son was born. One miraculous moment became my greatest sacrifice – my life for his.

It was the epidural for his birth that went wrong, triggering a snowball of health issues that have never ceased.

I didn’t know it right away. I didn’t know it when I repeatedly asked the postpartum nurse for headache medication. I didn’t know it when my body was in excruciating pain just trying to breastfeed. Or when I sat sprawled out in his pediatrician’s office, nauseated to no end.

From the very beginning of my son’s life, I was deprived irreplaceable time with him. My husband had to immediately learn every step involved in caring for a newborn all while caring for me. All because I became sick.

Year One

My hearing malfunctioned, impairing my ability to tell if my baby was crying for me.

The pressure in my head skyrocketed every time I woke up in the night to tend to him. Simply bending down to get his binky from under his crib made my head feel like it was being decapitated.

Changing his diaper couldn’t even be a normal event. It hurt to bring him onto the changing table, and it hurt to kneel down and change him on the floor. Add the tension of a squirming, crying baby, and my head felt like it would burst from the pressure.

The struggle to breastfeed only went from bad to worse. I could barely support my own body to sit. Pain dwindled my supply down to nothing, forcing me to stop.

My back felt so broken that I could no longer hold my baby at will. Still trying to work a full time job, I struggled to carry him and our bags to and from the car and babysitters.

I can’t tell you how much time I missed with my baby during his first year of life.

He never had a first birthday party. Fueled by steroids and painkillers, I did everything possible to make it happen. But it all fell apart. And I cannot express to you how much it crushed me that I couldn’t celebrate my son’s first year of life.

And I should have never expected that his second year would be any different.

I missed Mother’s Day with him because I was too sick to get out of bed. The opening of presents Christmas morning was delayed until the pain passed. First Thanksgiving, we were late to lunch as aching pressure slowed me down. Second Thanksgiving, I left the table mid-dinner sick to my stomach. Fourth of July, I could barely stay out in the sun to see my baby splash in his pool.

But these were just some of the special moments I missed with my baby. This wasn’t even the every day.

Year Two

By year two of my son’s life, I could no longer hold a job. While it was always my dream to stay home and raise my son myself, I never expected it to be this way.

We no longer needed babysitters for work. We needed babysitters who would stay with our son while we were at the hospital. We needed people who were willing to take shifts, pack his bags, and prepare him for the next person who would watch him through the night.

We also needed someone for me. I couldn’t be trusted alone with my own child. Not because I was a bad mother but because I was just as incapable of fending for myself as he was. There was never any way of knowing how I would wake up or how the day would go.

All I could do was keep a list on the fridge of my son’s daily routines. Whoever would be watching him that day would know what to expect. What time to feed him, what time to lay him down, etc.

I could barely keep up with his meals. I had to ask family and friends to help provide us with small baby jars of whatever leftovers they had.

Then there was post-surgery, where I couldn’t lift anything over 10 lb. I had to keep my 27 lb son content in his crib till help arrived early in the morning just to take him out. They had to stay to lay him down for his naps. Eventually, I was at least able to teach him to climb on my knee to get in his high chair. Still, being out in public and never being the one to hold my son, I looked like a neglectful mother.

And I felt like a terrible mother. I felt guilty, as though I had abandoned him.

Her children arise and call her blessed – Proverbs 31:28

Milestones, such as potty training or learning to feed himself, were delayed as I couldn’t bear to sit through the pain any longer than necessary.

And even if I wasn’t in pain, sickness still took over. If I wasn’t immediately leaving my son in his high chair or crib to run to the bathroom, I was leaving him to entertain himself in the bathroom cabinet next to me. I did what I had to do.

That meant breaking first parent rules. While I had always vowed to limit tv, it became my new babysitter. Of course, I felt like a bad parent for exposing my young child to a screen for so long. But it was my way of making sure he stayed safe in one location where I could see him while I rested or showered for relief.

We couldn’t practice athletics, but we could practice reading. Even though that simple act alone had me gasping for breaths in between words.

He never understood.

He never understood why we could go outside some days and then other days we couldn’t. Or why some days we would only be out mere minutes.

He never understood why I couldn’t always hold him, why I couldn’t always carry him. Every bit of extra weight increased the pressure.

How do you explain that to your baby? How do you comfort his needs when all he wants is to be held, and you can’t hold him. You can’t even kneel down and hug him.

These things weigh on you. Every one of these things try to tell you you’re a failure. You’re a neglectful mother. You’re incapable.

You can’t see everything you do for your child because your mind is so tormented with everything you can’t do. And if you can’t be there for your child, then why be there at all?

But I couldn’t let these thoughts take over. I had to remember this was only a season. In order to take care of my child, I had to take care of myself first. I needed to use this time to focus solely on getting better. My day with my son would come. I could not give up.

Her lamp does not go out at night. – Proverbs 31:18

I couldn’t see the good when I was in the bad. But I know I was a good mother because I tried my best. Even a mother of perfect health can only do so much, and that’s ok because that’s her best. If my best is making sure my child is fed and loved then that’s all that matters. The rest can wait.

I never neglected him. I never failed. My body just had some limitations, but even that is more than what some mom’s have to work with.

So every bad day, I learned to focus on my health. Every good day, I focused on my home.

I was thankful that my son was not old enough to where he would remember any of this. I was thankful that even after days without seeing each other, he still smiled with love when he saw my face.

He didn’t know. And if I could take care of myself, he would never have to know anything was ever wrong. I had to fight for him.

I learned to never take for granted the days you have with your children. It doesn’t matter if they won’t remember it. You will.

If you can still hold them, hold them while you can. If you can still sit them in your lap, read them a story. If you can still give them a bath, take the time to play in the tub.

On every good day with your child, remember the bad. Remember that at one point you couldn’t be with your child. You couldn’t have breakfast with your child. You couldn’t take your child to the park.

Each day is a new day, and each good day is another chance to make up for the bad. We hear it often, but it will never cease to be true – they only stay little for so long. Treasure the days that you can.