I wrote once, though I don’t know where, about the missed milestone of the Munchkin’s first illness. No one wants their child to be sick, of course, but as a mother, I felt that tug on my heartstrings that I wasn’t the one to cuddle and comfort her when she needed it most.

I figured that I wouldn’t ever have that feeling again.

Wrong.

BigBrother woke up around 9:15 yesterday evening. And by woke up, I do not mean that he rolled over and opened his eyes. There was much screaming and crying and gasping for breath. Yes, gasping for breath. At first we just thought he was hysterical. Then he kept saying, “Hurt! Ow!” To avoid waking LittleBrother, I brought him out on the couch with me after he wouldn’t calm down as I tried to squeeze myself into his toddler bed. He rested his sobbing little head on my chest and wheezed and coughed and snotted all over me. My panic began to rise.

My paramedic husband listened to his back as I scratched and rubbed his soft skin. But he wasn’t breathing well. He made the executive decision, got dressed and whisked my oldest boy out the door … in a green cloth diaper and t-shirt (pajamas when Thomas PJs are dirty) … while I was stuck at home. We weren’t going to wake LittleBrother to take him to a germ infested Emergency Room.

And so I sat.

And the emotions came back.

There I was. Missing something else. Just a different kid.

So, add guilt and grief and loss to the feeling of panic that washed over me and, well, I was beside myself by the time the two of them came home, red Popsicle in the hand of a much better sounding little dude. He told me all about the nurses, doctors and medicine as we sat on the couch. I ran my fingers through his hair. I memorized his eyes. I smiled at the red Popsicle mustache. And then he told me that I could sing him songs so he could go back to sleep. We made our way to his room and I cuddled with him on that toddler bed and sang him his favorite songs. And then he asked to go to sleep. And I left his room.

He’s did well today. More tired than usual. Took a late morning nap. (?!) But was back to arguing with me about bedtime come 7:00 in the evening. I even raised my voice a few times today, only to feel guilty knowing that his frustration was because he’s feeling sick. But I’m sick, too. So frustrations were high.

It was such a weird feeling. Not “being there” for my parented child. It’s really a new experience for me, other than when I was working outside the home. And I didn’t like this new experience. I’m the one parenting these children, along with my Husband, and I’m supposed to be there. I’m supposed to make him feel better. I’m supposed to hold his hand when he’s scared in the hospital. And I couldn’t be there.

So I left his hospital bracelet on all day today.