Lucy's sick.
She clearly had a fever. She lay on the couch, sort of weepy and sniffly all afternoon. Here she is moments after denying that she was sick or tired AT ALL!
Here's the thing I am not sure I'm very good at... Being a mom to sick Lucy.
When Coen was her age, and he was sick and/or feverish, he would climb his hot little body into my lap and cuddle until he either fell asleep or felt better. Not Lucy.
She does not want to be cuddled. When I try to rub her back or smooth her hair she pulls away from me. "Do you want me to let you be?" I asked her. She nodded and fell asleep after I walked away from the couch.
Huh.
It's hard. I know how to cuddle and soothe, to lullaby and shush and sympathetically and lovingly gaze. Lucy will have no such thing. She wants to be left alone, to be talked to normally and above all things, not be coddled. My mom says this is how I was as a kid. I vaguely remember being perfectly happy left under the blankets on the couch. So there you go. I have to be a mom to a kid who wants me to be a mom in a way that isn't comfortable for me, really. But what a wonderful challenge, I suppose.
She's in bed now. And later, when she cries for me, I'll just sit on the very edge of her bed, not touching her at all or saying anything soft and loving and warm. But I'll be thinking it.
And I guess that's just what it means to be her momma.
No comments:
Post a Comment