It struck with a vengeance.
“Yes, this is daycare calling,” the sweet woman on the phone said. “It seems your little guy has a bit of a fever.”
“OK,” I replied. “I’m on my way to come get him.”
As I drove, I did the due diligence of calling the pediatrician to see if he needed to be checked out and what measure I could take to make him more comfortable.
I promised myself years ago that I would fight the natural instinct to panic when faced with this very situation.
I walked into the daycare room and saw him — and nearly started crying.
He was in the arms of a caregiver, eyes open dazedly, looking miserable.
“Come on, Peanut,” I said in my best comforting voice. “Let’s get you home.”
But hours later, his temperature spiked to 103 degrees. He was limp in my arms and could barely whimper. And he would not stand for me to put him down for a second.
I made the call to go into urgent care to get him checked.
Sitting in the ER, alone with a silent baby and my thoughts, I couldn’t help but think of my own mother dutifully taking me in every time I had a severe fever or injury.
I did all the things with my son that made me feel better as a child: soothing back rub, soft singing, little kisses.
It made me feel like more of a mother than ever before. Maybe that’s because women tend to be the traditional caregivers of the family.
But I was proud of myself that I staid calm and collected, even at the height of his misery.
Every few hours, he awoke and needed some medicine to manage the fever, a little bit of milk in his tummy and snuggles from his mom.
And after this exhausting weekend, I yearn for being able to have that again for myself.
In the morning, he was smiling and babbling, and his appetite returning to normal. My back aches from holding him, I feel like I haven’t slept for days, and a hot shower was nothing more than a pipe dream for me.
But as I looked into those big, blue eyes and that toothless grin staring up at me, only one thought came to mind: Totally worth it.
— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
“Yes, this is daycare calling,” the sweet woman on the phone said. “It seems your little guy has a bit of a fever.”
“OK,” I replied. “I’m on my way to come get him.”
As I drove, I did the due diligence of calling the pediatrician to see if he needed to be checked out and what measure I could take to make him more comfortable.
I promised myself years ago that I would fight the natural instinct to panic when faced with this very situation.
I walked into the daycare room and saw him — and nearly started crying.
He was in the arms of a caregiver, eyes open dazedly, looking miserable.
“Come on, Peanut,” I said in my best comforting voice. “Let’s get you home.”
But hours later, his temperature spiked to 103 degrees. He was limp in my arms and could barely whimper. And he would not stand for me to put him down for a second.
I made the call to go into urgent care to get him checked.
Sitting in the ER, alone with a silent baby and my thoughts, I couldn’t help but think of my own mother dutifully taking me in every time I had a severe fever or injury.
I did all the things with my son that made me feel better as a child: soothing back rub, soft singing, little kisses.
It made me feel like more of a mother than ever before. Maybe that’s because women tend to be the traditional caregivers of the family.
But I was proud of myself that I staid calm and collected, even at the height of his misery.
Every few hours, he awoke and needed some medicine to manage the fever, a little bit of milk in his tummy and snuggles from his mom.
And after this exhausting weekend, I yearn for being able to have that again for myself.
In the morning, he was smiling and babbling, and his appetite returning to normal. My back aches from holding him, I feel like I haven’t slept for days, and a hot shower was nothing more than a pipe dream for me.
But as I looked into those big, blue eyes and that toothless grin staring up at me, only one thought came to mind: Totally worth it.
— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor of The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
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