Medically-induced melancholy

I picked Miss Peanut up from her after-school care on Tuesday evening and noticed that she was a tad subdued. "My throat hurts," is what I got from her. I didn't think too much of it, but told her I'd check it out when we got home.

On the ride home, however, I began to be concerned, as my Miss Peanut is normally a loquacious individual, prone to rattle on for hours if unchecked, and she was remaining uncharacteristically silent save for an intermittent sharp intake of breath. I wasted no time in grabbing the flashlight when we got home and peered down at her tonsils. Whooo, boy! Her throat and tonsils were swollen and inflamed, and there was a tell-tale white patch on one of the tonsils. She was running a low-grade fever, and I figured it was Strep. I did all of the Dr. Mom steps - Children's Motrin for the fever, chicken noodle soup and peanut butter crackers (traditional family invalid food), called in my sick day and arranged sub plans, and then cuddled the invalid until she fell asleep.

At seven years old, Miss Peanut is just shy of four feet tall. She's small for her age, and as she's my only child, I tend to baby her a tad. Times like these, when she's sick and her natural vibrant independence has been dampened, usually find her in my lap with her head tucked between my shoulder and chin so I can rub her back. This clinginess often fuels my melancholy.

You see, it's times like this when I remember that I will never cuddle another infant of my own body. I'll never count another set of fingers and toes or cradle a downy head in my palm while I make loony faces to a baby of my own. While, intellectually, I don't think another baby is a good idea for me, emotionally - and hormonally - I find myself suddenly grieving the loss. My uterus is now just so much useless real estate. It makes me sad and angry by turns.

My amateur diagnosis was confirmed the next day by Miss Peanut's pediatrician - Strep Throat. We spent all of Wednesday - save for the doctor visit and the resulting trip to Target for antibiotics and pudding - lolling about in our pajamas. There were naps, movies, and Spaghetti and Meatballs for dinner. There was medicine, bedtime stories, and snuggles until she slept.

Today? Fresh pajamas, same agenda, with, hopefully, less melancholy.