Yesterday I should have had a growth scan to find out if Little Pea is likely to be as big as his/her older sister. But I didn’t. Instead, I spent all morning from just after midnight until about 10am violently throwing up. It was horrible, and exhausting, and has made me realise I have muscles where I didn’t know any existed. It also made me realise I have a LOT of work to do on my pelvic floor (you can read more about this on Emma’s Diary later this week). Having finally finished emptying the contents (and lining) of my stomach, I spent the rest of the day in bed, sleeping, resting, feeling very guilty for not enjoying the first day of my week off with The Baby, feeling like I had abandoned my family, and watching episodes of Cold Feet.
The thing is, I picked this bug up from The Baby, who handled her illness very differently to me. On Saturday morning, The Boyfriend found her crying in her cot accompanied by a pool of vomit. This did not stop her eating three pancakes for breakfast or spending the morning playing and drawing and tearing about the house like the crazed 19-month-old she is. She threw up again just before lunch, and again, after a few moments of self-pity, of repeatedly announcing “No sick! Sick gone!”, she dived into her lunch of chicken and pasta salad, and spent the rest of the day running around the garden at my parents’ house, shouting and playing and not letting on that there was any hint of illness in her tiny little body.
It made me think, that despite the fact that I grew this little girl inside me, that she is 50% of my genes, that we spent nine months of being unable to be physically any closer or any more bonded, that she is completely and entirely her own person. She is so different to me in many, many ways. She is fearless, confident, loud and demanding (The Boyfriend might argue there are some similarities there, but I really don’t see it), and she spends no time feeling sorry for herself or letting anything as trivial as a tummy bug stop her from living life and doing what she wants. I find it astonishing at times that she is anything to do with me. I over-analyse things, I spend far too much time in my head, I am quiet, introverted, a worrier, and often too concerned with what others think. Despite 32 years on this planet, I think I have an awful lot to learn from my energetic, life-loving toddler, and I have no doubt she will continue to teach me lots more as she grows up.
Today’s lesson? Chocolate is always the preferred choice for lunch. So maybe we’re not that different after all…