I am almost willing to start feeling a little better. Maybe.
After work, I went for a walk. I planned to make dinner for the gang. It was to be a sort of celebration, farewell dinner because DD and her Wonderful Boyfriend are off for a weekend adventure with his family, leaving tomorrow after school. The celebration turned out to be a bust.
DH called me on the cell to ask me to come home. DD came home from work sick. She has inherited my propensity for stomach ailments when stressed, sad, excited or happy. She is excited about the weekend. For some of us vomiting is a sort of natural side-effect of excitement. She spent the evening alternating between throwing up and sleeping.
Dinner time was weird. She dozed in her room while I made dinner for DH and WBF. DH was called away from the table by the phone, so WBF and I had dinner together and talked. Lord, he's a nice boy!
DD was too sick to pack, so that job is being left until the last minute tomorrow. Fortunately, I taught her the fine art of list-making. With a packing list in hand, the actual packing should not be too stressful. Double fortunately, if she is better in the morning I will be long gone and at work before the last minute panic packing begins.
I am keeping my fingers crossed she feels better tomorrow. I would hate for her to be sick on the plane. I can't even let myself think about her missing out on the trip altogether.
Mothers will appreciate this. During her last (I hope) bout of vomiting I heard her go into the bathroom and I kicked into my regular sick-kid routine. I followed her into the bathroom and held her hair back with one hand while wetting cold cloths with the other and applying them to the back of her neck. I have no earthly idea if cold compresses have any effect on quelling nausea, but it is what my mother used to do for me when I threw up, and so I do it too. It may not really help the sick kid, but it makes an otherwise helpless mom feel like she is doing "something". I don't know whether or not DD appreciates my being in the bathroom when she is sick, but she's never asked me to leave ... and I've never really given her a choice.
She may be 18 and about to fly the nest, but as long as she's under my roof, when she's sick, she's my precious little one and I will suffer along with her.
That is what Mom's do.
My own mother keeps telling me that it never gets any better, even after the kids have left home. There's another thing for me to put on my list of things to worry and obsess about.
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