In which Kira overuses caps and is unrepentant.
Sometimes sanity depends on your focus

The voice

Sophia is much, much, hugely better. She feels sort of like a lizard, as her skin flakes off all over, but underneath that she is a rosy cheeked, happy baby again. She squawks and bellows and laughs again. Now that she's crawling comfortably she feels quite sure that she should be able to walk, so she's pulling herself up on, and falling down from, everything within reach. It feels a little like we're living in an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos.

I feel like I can take a deep breath for the first time in days. Thank God for antibiotics.

Honestly, I don't think I even realized HOW sick she was until she started getting better. You know how people always say that mothers just know when something is wrong? That they have this sense about their children, and everyone should just respect that? Well I've always found that notion to be a huge amount of pressure. I mean, what if I just happen to be the mom without the sense about my children (beating my brother, The One True Josh to the punch here, I am after all completely without sense about MOST THINGS)? What if I am the tone-deaf woman who doesn't hear that voice telling her something is wrong?

Well, I can tell you definitively that there was a voice. To be precise, it was my voice, saying repeatedly, "she just doesn't LOOK RIGHT." And even though I kept trying to convince myself that she was fine, the first whack-job doctor was right, and it was just a virus, I kept hearing myself tell people, "she just doesn't LOOK RIGHT."

And she just didn't. So I guess I did know, after all.

Now that Sophia's feeling better, all three boys have colds. Today they parked in front of the TV, sneezy and snuffly and glassy eyed. And even though I felt their foreheads and made them drink water and gave them extra vitamin C, I knew they just had colds, and it never even occurred to me to worry. At one point this evening Raphael climbed into my lap for a cuddle. He's getting so long-limbed that it's sort of like cuddling a colt. He wrestled himself into place inside my arms and leaned back, his head lolling happily on my shoulder.

"I think I'm already better," he rasped. On the floor, Sophia reached up to grab for his toe. The house smelled of popcorn and Sunday evening, and I hugged my already-better-baby-boy close.

"I think everyone's feeling better," I said. And I think it's true. Mothers, they KNOW.



I had the same fear that I wouldn't know. I took my 1 month old (at the time) to the doctor, a doctor I work with, who told me he had a virus that would probably get worse before it got better. Less than 24 hours later, I hemmed and hawed about going back. I was going to look like I didn't trust him, they were going to tell me "He SAID it would get worse before it got better. Duh.", I was going to look like a paranoid mother who won't quit until her kid gets some treatment she thinks he needs. But my baby wasn't right. A different doctor and 4 days in the hospital convinced me to listen to my voice and not worry about offending anybody. How my baby's health vs. offending a coworker is even a decision is a mental illness for another day.

Its just nice to know the instincts are there, is all.

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