Some days are covered in vomit,
shit and snot. Bacteria and viruses
abound in the adorable petri dishes
who live with me. They ooze putrid
liquids, sticky and stinky. They infect
each other and those nearby. In their
misery, they fuss, whine, cry, cling
spreading their sick germs with
every nuzzle of their soft heads,
every embrace of their sweet arms.
These two are not simply offspring-
genetic carriers of my DNA. They are
my and my love's children, the
miracle of my heart walking outside
my body. Their throw up and diarrhea
do not overwhelm me, do not
disgust me. Their slimy snot and crusty
boogers do not offend me. My mother's
instinct has me reach out to catch
upchucked food remnants. The nessecities
of parenthood have me scrubbing brown
stains from underpants. The familial bond
has me spreading cool cream on red bottoms.
My patience isn't boundless. Sick kids
are trying, frustrating, cranky. They are
up in the middle of the night for hours,
unable to settle comfortably. They require
multiple trips to the doctor and pharmacies-
long waits with restless children, missed
hours from work. They do not eat the healthy
meals cooked with care, turn their noses up
at my hard effort of providing good food.
Nothing feels right, they complain
with words, actions, whines and cries.
They curl their bodies into mine, seeking
soft curves to pillow their achy bodies.
I hold them, carry them, calm them,
love them. I see them through their illnesses.
My heart bursts with love, in health and
in sickness. I take time off work, keep them
home with me. I measure the medicines,
check their temperatures, provide liquids,
clean them up. I am not a doctor, but I
nurse them till they are better, even at
risk of my own health. I wade through the bile,
crap and mucus to get them well again.