My five year old had a big day today: Pajama Day with Show-And-Tell at preschool. She wanted braids, as she gets compliments on the little blond wiry pigtails sticking out behind her ears. New glasses and pink flannel pajamas polka dotted with Disney Princesses completed the look. She grasped the Ball jar in her sweaty little hands, the cocoon inside too precious to go in the school bag. Excited chatter came from the back seat all the way there, “What is he doing in the acoon?” “Is he sleeping?” “Is he dead?” “Do caterpillars go to heaven?” “When is he coming out?” “How will he fly away?” “Can I get another one?” I say, “Honey, it’s a cocoon. Kuh-coon.” After practicing several times, it’s still “acoon”. I give up, smile and hug my chatterbox, wave good-by as she walks up the sidewalk into her school, and smile softly in the blessed quiet of my car.

Did anyone else have the great, running with whoops of excitement down a totally lit up block, breathing hard through the nostril holes in your plastic Cinderella mask, lugging around an overflowing pilowcase, laughing at your cousin who tripped in the wet grass so he looked like he peed himself, Halloween marathons I had as a kid?

My 4 year old is sick again. She lays her little blond head on my lap, and looks listlessly up at me with big watery eyes and flushed cheeks. My heart constricts as I notice her lips are chapped from the shallow mouth breathing she’s been doing and I see the pulse jumping in her neck. Just two days ago, she was violently sick and I thought she was getting better yesterday. But now, her temperature is between 101 and 103, even with Tylenol. I thought she already had H1N1. She’s been sick so much this fall.

I almost superstitiously avoid thinking about anything happening to any one of my kids. That’s because if I started to think about those “what if’s” it could become a bad habit that would drive me insane. I love them so much. I have had the luxury of healthy children, and a teenager who was not a risk taker. So, I’ve been able to protect this bubble of denial that anything truly bad can happen to my kids for all these years. But today I find myself holding my little girl and thinking “Could I lose her?” and regretting every time I’ve lost patience with her recently–and every missed opportunity for a hug or silly conversation about bugs.

The Mama Bear in me wants to call the clinic and raise holy hell until they agree to give her Tamiflu and apologize for the delay in getting vaccinations of both flus out (because of course they had a hand in that problem). Poor medical professionals who must deal with parents feeling powerless.

Edited to Add:  MamaBear didn’t have to raise holy hell.  The doctor sent my little girl to the hospital.  She was very dehydratrated.  One night of IV hydration and medications and she was sent home.  We’ve been trying to keep her fever down as much as possible with Tylenol and Motrin.  It’s Day 6 of this sickness, and her fever will spike again tonight (though probably not the 104 it was at the clinic).  The Tamiflu doesn’t seem to be helping, probably because it was begun too late.  My advice: don’t wait until high fever has been around two days to take them in, as all the websites recommend.

I’m the eldest of the group: 40. Three children and a busy career have either kept me young or aged me prematurely (depends upon the day). My youngest is 7 months, and I am remembering that when they’re this little, treading water is just fine. I will organize my life, simplify, begin a regimen of muscle strengthening exercises, and get a makeover next year (yeah right).