We’ve had a rough few days, you and I, and your mama feels like she can’t go much longer.
It’s 4:51AM, but that doesn’t mean much to you. Your little body knows by now it should be sleeping, and it’s trying. You’re trying. I can really see that. I appreciate it.
You’re not as warm anymore, not the way you were a few days ago. We’re past giving you a bath every 3 hours or so. We’re also past giving you all these meds for when your fever goes up to 39°, sometimes higher. I thought things would get better by now. They seem to just be getting different kind of bad.
The cough kicked in yesterday, making your tiny body twitch every time you feel the urge. Your pacifier comes out flying across the room; it’s completely lost its point by now. You don’t even ask for it anymore. (I wonder if this is a good time to take it away, at least.)
What really breaks me is your quiet moans through the night. Your fever’s gone. If it wasn’t, I’d know what to do, I’d find a way to make you feel better.
But no. There’s nothing I can do.
I’m watching you helplessly, desperately, as your body is fighting to go to much needed sleep. It simply can’t; it’s being interrupted by an abrut, violent cough every time it manages to relax. At least for a little bit. And there’s nothing I can do except wait for it to be over.
I’d be taking this much better if I wasn’t sick, if my throat wasn’t itching, if I didn’t have to spend 6 hours a day studying because I have an exam in a couple of days. My exams are of little importance to you, though. It’s not even a thought in your beautiful, innocent little mind. You don’t know much about the hardships of the world we live in. You just want your hand to be held through these difficult nights, even if it means not being able to study tomorrow since I didn’t get any sleep.
It makes me realize, over and over again, how we humans have the incredible talent to overwhelm ourselves with our mundane activities and forget what really matters.
We don’t know how to slow down. If we stop doing what the world around us is asking us to do, the whole system crumbles. We fail our exams. We lose jobs. We go hungry. We die.
Money is of little importance to you, too. All you see when your dad isn’t home, is simply – that he isn’t home. You have little idea about his love for you. He leaves our home every day, to earn money, so he can keep our family alive. He’d give anything he could to be with you all the time. Especially now, when your little body is fighting of a virus that we’re helpless against.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to take all your hardships and pass them onto me.
If only that would mean your quiet moans would die out, and you’d get some rest.