Dang, I have a commercial’s jingle in my head. Evelyn’s cough broke me from it. How do you know when to take a kid to the doctor? That’s the thought running through my mind. She has no fever, is eating well, and has plenty of energy. A quick peek at symptoms of pneumonia or respiratory issues reassures me she doesn’t seem to have more than just this lingering raspy cough. But because it won’t go away, we spent the day lounging on the couch in front of a roasting fire, watching three movies: A Bug’s Life, The Absent-Minded Professor, and Peter Pan & Wendy.
I dislike the worrying part of being a parent. People say kids are like an extension of you, like an extra limb or something. For me, it’s far worse than that. I’ve never cared about my own body or well-being to the degree I care about hers. The weight of every decision I make—or don’t make—feels immense, like deciding when to see a doctor. When it comes to my own health, I procrastinate until the very last possible moment.
Evelyn found some holes at the unicorn paw spot on her sleeping bag and is wiggling her little nude body around in front of me, showing off as I glance at her while writing this. The sight makes me smile and pulls me out of my head for a moment. Parenting might be filled with worries, but moments like these remind me how much joy it brings too.
Tomorrow’s another day, and for now, the worry can wait.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 