That day I went from “raging overwhelmed mother” to “oh my poor baby needs me! Everyone else fuck off” in an instant.
I had no idea why this tiny human was so fussy. My body was overrun with emotions and lacked food; I didn’t realize how hot she was. She had her first fever.
I felt horrible and terrified. From the moment seeing 100 degrees on the thermometer, nothing else mattered. We snuggled all day. I didn’t care if she nap trapped me or cried in my ear. My arms ached from carrying her everywhere. I started using subtitles to binge Bridgerton while she napped. She needed me. My little human needed me to take care of her and make the sickness go away.
The guilt from being so frustrated in the beginning faded quickly. It was replaced with hopelessness and exhaustion. Her fever lasted for five days! The pediatrician did tell us she had roseola and it was normal for this virus. But five days! While I was happy to care for her, I was hitting a breaking point by the afternoon. There was no magic button or trick. I didn’t even have the boobie to rely on because we had weaned to just the morning boobie. Turns out re-running the movie Bolt was good. Until it wasn’t.
I’m not the type that keeps her cool and affectionate when my baby is sick. Maybe one day. When she says actual words instead of crying. It just wears you down. Not like a little bit by bit. It’s the piercing screeches that make you believe for sure your ear drums are about to burst. I can last about half the day and I’m begging my husband for a break. There was a point I just texted my husband, “Please come home.”
The first illness is scary. In hindsight, it was short and I’m grateful it passed, but it was still scary. No one tells you how difficult that first fever is. It’s like having a newborn again, but without the boobie. You realize how much you miss the smiles and giggles. When they finally come back, it’s as if the world is whole again.