Sick Day

My little man was sick today and in desperate need of his mama, so I took the day off to hang with him. Luckily, deadlines and my boss were wonderfully accomodating. It was a great reminder of the incredible flexibility I have in my position. I work for fellow parents--and great people--in a role that allows me, for the most part, to work exclusively from home and be very available to my son. There are some busy weeks and months, but they are tempered by plenty of low-key days.

This comes at a time when I am in near constant emotional flux about my decision to be a working mother. Yesterday was especially hard. I cried myself the entire 20-minute drive from daycare to the doctor's office after picking up my forlorn, fevered little baby (he slept the whole way). He was so visibly sick--the worst I've ever seen--that I kept asking myself how I could have ever dropped him off that morning (weren't his eyes clear? hadn't his congestion improved? wasn't his color good?). They had told me he had been crying "Momma" for an hour. How terrible.

Yesterday and today I was reminded over and over of my model for motherhood--my own biological mother. Though not without faults, my mother is an incredible caregiver. And sick days were her specialty. I cannot remember ever being sent to school sick. I have many memories, though, of telling her I didn't feel well and being ushered back to bed with cinnamon toast and Earl Grey tea (with honey, of course). We stayed in PJs till who-knows-when and ate Lipton noodle soup and more toast and more tea for lunch. I don't remember much more of those days, other than I loved them. In all of my memories, it is chilly enough to relish the warmth of the hardwood stove, to wear footed pajamas, and sip endless tea and eat soup. In my mind's eye, she is always at the foot of the couch--at my feet--and I am covered in a blanket from shoulder to toe. I remember Ferris Buller's Day Off and Daffy Duck.

Someone told me recently that, because I don't have a model for a working mother--mine was the quitessential stay-at-home mom (my Easter baskets had REAL GRASS for chrissake), I am currently making my own model. Right now, it feels very difficult. Today I tried to recreate some of Mom's magic for the first of Nicky's many sick days--first, I took off work (which is instant magic), then we snugglebugged till 7:15 (after Nicky woke up at his usual 6 a.m.), we stayed in our jammies for a good long while, then just did what made us happy. This turned out to be rearranging all our Tupperware (his idea, and his new arrangement), and a couple fresh air walks with Miss Boda Bean, our devoted 8-year-old Black Lab.

In deciding what's important for this new model, family dinners are also my, and my husband's, priority right now. I refuse to raise a child who grabs a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of fritos off the counter and calls it dinner because Mom's too busy. That will not be my life--or Nicky's. But maybe I'll buy the plastic green stuff for his Easter basket. He won't know what he's missing.