Violet started rasping sometime early last week. She normally has a roughish sort of voice (roughish for a toddler; we are not talking Kathleen Turner), but this was reaching Janis Joplin-like proportions. We went to the doctor, but they said there were no antibiotics we could give her; the virus was there, but it had to run its course on its own.
Her first year, Vi was on antibiotics about once a month. She was prone to painful ear infections, as well as respitory colds. Largely, this is because she was in daycare from the time she was 6 weeks old. [I interject here to say: No, I did not dump my baby in a child care center so I could play career-woman. Keep your judgements away from me. We were poor and struggling and rather than let my daughter starve or let her live on the street, we opted for food, shelter, and daycare.] [yes, I have had to defend my decision, why do you ask?]
When she was about 5 months old, her regular doctor was unavailable, so we saw one of her associates. This associate was apparently not prepared for the wiggling, and scratched her eardrum while checking it out. She didn’t tell us, she just let us find out when Vi turned her head and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHE IS BLEEDING FROM HER EAR. This closely rivaled the time when she took a medicine that, when combined with the iron in her formula, turned her poo blood red and smelling of iron so we thought FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHE IS BLEEDING INTERNALLY for Scariest Moment In My Life So Far.
So, she is quite used to feeling sick. She normally powers through it with barely a change in her routine, maybe a slight fever that keeps her out of daycare, but usually nothing contagious. She still eats and plays and laughs and mischief-makes.
On Sunday, though, when her fever reached pinnacle, she was a different girl. She lay on me, watching HGTV, for hours; she even drifted off a bit. Vi hasn’t taken a nap with me in 8 months. She never let Purple Care Bear go, and barely said a word all afternoon. She only wanted to get some love-radiation from her mama.
I have written before about a recaptured memory of my mother, of sitting on the couch in my pajamas, watching tv and smelling of fabric softener. I wonder if Vi will recapture this weekend when she gets older. Will she remember feeling safe with Mama? Will she recall the scent of coconut in my hair, or the comfort of my arms around her? Will she recall the truth that she is My Daughter, the bonding we have as it is driven home that she is my responsibility, my life, my offspring, and I am willing to do anything for her?
She is better now, by the way. Back to school, demanding Blue’s Clues, and emptying every drawer in her dresser. I love it.