So a few nights ago, before I was getting ready to go to sleep, I started feeling ill. Really ill. And then, on top of that, a panic attack had set in (probably due to the fact I was in the middle of a giant move and change in my life.) Everyone else was asleep, and there I was in my misery trying not to wake anyone up while I felt like my guts were about to spew forth.
Suddenly it was like I was 6 again and I just wanted to run into mom and dad's room and tell them my tummy hurt. When I was little, my mom would take care of my brothers and I when we were sick by feeding us 7-up and crackers, rubbing our backs, and then as a special treat we sometimes got to watch CARTOONS while we got to lay down in THEIR BED.
I don't know why that is, but being in the presence of mom seems to make everything okay. Even when she's miles and miles away (this time 16 hours, again) she'll be the first I call when I feel ill. I consider myself pretty independent, but once I take some tums and some tylenol, I'll revert back into sick kid mode.
The only time mom's wrath comes down on a kid when the kid is sick apparently is only when she finds out the kid is *gasp* faking once in awhile. Not that I ever did, of course.
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