Do you remember when you were small and sick?
It didn’t happen very often so you remember the tiny details.
Your little body heaving up over the toilet bowl. That awful, bitter taste in your mouth. The sensation that it was coming again and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Being too hot. Being too cold and shivery.
That yocky feeling of warm, slimey puke on your jammies and in your hair and just wishing it would go away.
The relief of the coldness of the tiles against your cheek when you lie down for a minute on the bathroom floor.
Your mother’s hands brushing your hair back and holding your forehead as you throw up. Again.
Dad’s warm chest and his strong arms holding you tight when you’re just too weak to get sick any more and your eyes sting with tiredness.
Someone rubbing your back.
Lying on Mam and Dad’s cool clean sheets.
Watching TV with your comfy blanket and a pillow on the couch.
Sitting in your underwear just cos.
That quenching, icy cold sip of water.
That first slice of buttery toast when you’re on the mend that tastes just like heaven.
Cuddles, cuddles and more cuddles.
I remember so well the comfort and love my parents gave me, supporting me through tummy bugs and other nasty germys. I can nearly taste and smell the memories they’re so strong. It’s so lovely to be now in the place where I’m the one providing the reassurance, the safety and the comfort. To know what an important, special job it is. The sleep is broken, all the sheets are in the wash, but the child is loved, so loved. What a gift it is really. It sounds like madness I’m sure – surrounded by the tissues, vomit and piles of dirty laundry. But it’s nice to be the rock to lean on. Because you know you can do it. And you want to.