Once when I had only a 2 year old and a brand new infant (3 weeks old), my husband headed to Europe for a 10-day trip. I really didn’t want to be alone all day and night yet, so I decided to pack the kids up in the car and head to my Mom’s house.
I was nursing the little guy it seemed every ten to fifteen minutes, so, I wasn’t sure how he would handle the drive. Would he sleep? No, he screamed. So, at one point, I found a nice little country house, pulled in the drive way and nursed him. No, I said to my two-year old, you cannot get out of the car and play while we’re here. What if he ran to close to the road? It wasn’t like I was in any position to be able to stop him. Soon, the owner of the house came out to see what was wrong. The man was so embarrassed he almost fell over himself backwards as he went running back into the house.
So, finally, I arrived at my Mom’s. Now, I could relax a bit, nurse the baby, while she was busy with my curious two-year old. They were outside exploring the tractors and the flowers. But I heard something in the kitchen. There he was, my two-year old, playing with my Mom’s allergy pills. I had no idea where my Mom was.
“How many did you take?”
This was his answer for everything. I didn’t know how many were there to begin with — and I couldn’t tell if and how many pills he took. Soon, me, the baby, my toddler and my Mom were headed to the ER. Once there, the baby started to cry. So, I sat down to nurse, there were forms to fill out, I kept watching my toddler, answering the doctor’s questions about what happened. It was too much.
My Mom started reading a magazine — and I handed her the clipboard and said, “here, just do this for me.” She sighed, and reluctantly started filling stuff out and asking me more questions. They gave my son the stuff to make you throw up. I’m still nursing, I coax the two-year old to drink it; he does; one miracle in itself. His tummy starts to hurt, he starts to cry, and he just looks so helpless sitting there. I walk over to sit beside him on the bed, baby still attached to me, and I put my free arm around the poor little two-year old. At that point, the medicine kicks in, and my two-year old throws up down my back; thank goodness not on the baby. At that very moment, the baby, pretty full from this constant nursing has one of those explosion diapers — and that is now running down my leg. Both boys are crying.
Before I even have a chance to move, a woman with an IV in the cot next to us, lifts her poor sick body up and looks at me and says, “Can I help you?”
I realize then and there, that no, you can’t. Just rest. I’ve got it covered. With or without husband in Europe, with or without my Mom’s attention, I’m already doing this by myself. I’m in the worst of it — I’m getting through it, and I can handle just about anything, by myself.
My son was fine — he had taken no pills. We went back home to our house, the next day, by ourselves.
How far would I go for my kids? Pretty far. Easily.