Roseola

Doesn’t it sound like a plucky little plant you’d have perched on your kitchen window sill? Something cheerful and downright obnoxious in its silliness.

What it really is, is three long, excruciating days of fever, followed by angry pink spots sprinkled all over the porcelain skin of The Pie which burst into little red fires when she is upset or hot.

It’s merely a virus, another childhood illness that I was clueless about as I was skipping through my pregnancy, imagining endless days of coloring and pushing Beans in a swing. At that time, I didn’t think about illness and disease. I was naïve to the fact that children actually do get sick. And it’s not fun.

What makes it worse is that, while tending to The Pie, I’ve been neglecting Peanut. She doesn’t know anything but the fact that her sister, her other, her joy is not herself. And her Momma is worried and distracted and won’t play the jumping game for too long and can’t fit both of them onto her lap at the moment. The extra kisses I’ve been planting on her head are brushed aside, because what she really wants is the return of normalcy. Of Pie chasing her and stealing her crayon. Of climbing the ladder to the slide and of tickling Daddy. Of the giggles at watching each other feed Max and Avery bits of dinner as Momma has that patented exasperated look on her face.

I admit that I’ve reveled in the moments when Pie lies hot in my arms, waiting for me to pet her hair and whisper that it will get better. These days, I’m lucky to get a quick hug or a spontaneous peck. There are too many things for an almost two year old to do in a day. But now, the quietness of her lethargy allows me to hold the weight of her for much longer than she would let me if she was feeling like her old self, and I love it, despite the reason behind her stillness.

Papa M said it best when I cried to him this morning over the torture of leaving her as she clung to me, sobbing:

“My Dear, I truly understand. The most heartbreaking times in my life were when you girls were sick or hurt. I can still remember when Arisa cut her face, you got bit by the dog and Amanda was burnt.

During those times you have to remember they are stronger than we think they are… Love is a painful thing.”

Hopefully soon, both Peanut and I will get our Pie back. And I’ll resume my normal daily chores that have been forgotten this week while Peanut will delight in the return of her beloved playmate. Until then, my arms are open.