Monchichi delivered my Mother’s Day gift to me 4 days early. Such an overachiever, that one.
Yesterday, I got the call from preschool that Monchichi had a fever and wasn’t feeling well. I knew immediately that her runny nose turned into an ear infection, again. It’s a rough ride with her ear infections. She runs a high fever with aching, pus-filled (the doctors tell me that part) ears, that hurt even when she drinks water. Then we snuggle for the next couple days while her hot little head rests on my chest and I count the hours till I can give her the next Motrin dose to bring her fever down.
When I picked Monchichi up from school, all she wanted was to go home and wear her ballet clothes. I replied that she could put the ballet clothes on, but we had to go to the doctor first. She protested, whined, and cried saying she didn’t want to see the doctor, and insisted on going home. I started to explain why we needed to go to the doctor.
“Honey, did you know that a doctor’s job is to take care of sick people and make them healthy? And you’re not feeling good so the doctor will look at you and help you feel much better. We all want you to feel better and get healthy because it’s no fun being sick, is it?”
Out of nowhere, Monchichi said, “you’re a good mommy to me.”
Happily surprised by this somewhat non-sequitur statement, my ego said, ‘why yes, yes I am.’ I reveled for a second in that wonderful praise. Mostly my heart melted, because that was the first time Monchichi has said that and when you’re a 2.5 year old, it is truly a pure, straight from the heart proclamation. I found it even more touching, because it did not follow a special treat or toy, as some of her hugs and ‘I love you,” do. It seemed to stem from a real understanding that despite the discomfort of going to the doctor, I wanted to take care of her and she appreciated me.
This is my ultimate Mother’s Day gift. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll enjoy listening to Daniel and Monchichi in the kitchen, making breakfast, having a good laugh while I attempt to eat it in bed with Monchichi jumping around. But as a mother, who strives to be a good one, Monchichi’s spontaneous affirmation has filled my heart gas tank to full.
I haven’t been good at keeping up with the baby journal, but I am going to write this one down – complete with the date and time so I don’t forget this sweet memory. Plus, I can lob it back at her when she’s a 13 year old, yelling at me because I won’t let her go to some party, “You are so mean! I hate you!” I’ll have in my arsenal, “Well, on May 5, 2011 at 11:27 a.m. you told me that I’m a good mommy. So there! You don’t hate me.”
A Mother’s Day gift that will endure throughout the years.