My husband and I not only share the same name, but we also share very close birthdays. Granted he’s two years older than I am, so he will always be my old man…but since meeting nearly two decades ago we’ve usually combined our birthday fun.
As fate would have it, our children are also two years apart in age and share very close birthdays. Luckily they still are the best of friends and want their birthdays to be celebrated together. So on an unsuspecting weekend day in March we have tended to unleash hoards of boys and girls upon our home and cul de sac where giggling and squealing can be heard from blocks away. Being unable to leave anyone out, and always justifying to myself it is the nice thing to do, we have invited each child’s entire class to join us for the fun.
Yes, I am stupid.
Yes, I know. I know.
But regardless of when that chaos-filled Saturday or Sunday has fallen on the calendar, I have always found myself a little bit more sensitive during those six days between when my eldest turns a year older and my youngest turns a year older. Spending those days thinking about when I was pregnant, when we brought each of them home from the hospital…you get the idea.
Having had our double-birthday insanity this past weekend, where it seems both of my children were exposed to the puking flu, my kids are home, snuggling in bed with me despite having grown older and more independent in just the past few days.
My son having just turned nine on Saturday, my daughter getting ready to turn seven on Friday…and here we are cuddling as though time is standing still on a Tuesday night. Tucked away in our bed, legs and arms tangled between towels and wet wash cloths, stuffed animals and nerf guns.
Both of them want me. Both of them need me. Both of them are stuck to me like velcro as they battle a bug and beg their Mamma to rub their back or lay ‘just a little closer’ as they doze off clutching me with one hand and ice chips with another.
My six days of contemplation, where I get misty over where all the time went, and how they won’t need me soon, have turned into something entirely different this year. I couldn’t be wanted more. I couldn’t be needed more.
During one of my daughter’s puke sessions this morning she asked me to promise to always be there to help pull her hair back. As my son fell into a nap shortly after lunch he asked me who took care of all the kids who had to stay home from school sick if their Moms didn’t have Lupus.
Dads, grandparents, babysitters, uncles…all sorts of people.
I’m not glad you have Lupus Mom, but I’m glad you have it today because you are home with me when I’m sick.
The funny thing is…my Mom left Sunday night after having stayed awhile taking care of me. The past 18 months I can honestly say I want two people when I am sick ( in other words-all the time)- I want my husband and I want my Mom.
So as I spend the last few days thinking about how badly I want for these children of ours to stay children, for them to always need me and want me, I know deep down they won’t ever really stop needing their Mamma…just like I haven’t stopped needing mine.