Pox

A few nights ago, I lifted Millie out of her bath and saw that her legs were covered in red bumps, though they hadn't been just hours before. When they looked worse the next morning, we decided to take her in to the doctor. While we thought it could be chickenpox, he said he wasn't sure because she didn't have a fever.

Later that afternoon, we were at the library picking out a prize for her completing the reading program (she got an inflatable penguin). I pressed my cheek against her head and it seemed to nearly singe my skin. She was obviously sick. We took her temperature at home, and found it had gone from normal to 103 in a very short amount of time. The red dots were spreading to more of her body, and her cheeks were flushed. There's a certain sickness you feel in the pit of your stomach when you know your child isn't well.

When I was 4 or 5, I came down with the chickenpox (and lovingly gave it to my younger brother, too). Though I don't remember much, I do recall feeling generally miserable and always itchy. No matter what the illness, though, I had my mom. She was also a registered nurse, so she knew what she was doing when she took care of us. Any memories of being sick are also memories of chicken noodle soup, cans of Sprite, cold washcloths folded up for our foreheads, and, more than anything, the comfort of knowing she would always be there for us. Anything we needed, we had only to call out, "Mom."

Just two days before those red bumps began popping up, Millie finally said it. She's been able to say "mama" for months, of course, and she knew it meant me, but she had never said it of her own accord. I couldn't understand how she could walk past Sky and say "Daddy" but wouldn't say my name- the name of the person she's around the most. But suddenly, out of the blue, she called for me one night. "Mama," she said. My heart was a puddle.

And last night, reaching into her crib to wake her up for another dose of medicine, her eyes fluttered open. "Mama," she sighed. I realized that I may not have a nursing degree, and I don't know the half of what my mom knew to do, but I had finally been pronounced a mother. It's the best qualification I could have in days like this.

I hate that she's sick. I hate that this first real illness of hers scares me a bit. If I could, I would take those spots away from her in a heartbeat. But because there's no doing that, I'm glad that she is finally using the word she needs to call me. The silver lining in it all is that she can rest in the comfort of her mama.

And somehow, I'm blessed enough to have that name.