Really? Now? After more than two years of isolation and avoidance. After the allowance of vaccinations while still nursing — hoping that antibodies would pass. Only in some moments — not ever, really — feeling one hundred percent sure. Of all the painstaking troubles, trials, and tribulations, it finally caught up to us. After a clear and present evasion all this time, Covid-19 made its (so very unwelcome) way into our home.
We knew exactly where and how. Our activities had returned to a sense of pretend normal. Oh, to be out and about in the world again. Life was full of near misses, aired with many a “phew.” And this didn’t even start slow and steady, to be honest. We didn’t even know the symptoms were there. Until we realized — and they were full blown.
My little one complained of a tummy ache, and, in truth, I didn’t think too much of it. I had made a homemade veggie purée for her earlier, so I passed it off for gas. Later on that afternoon, her dad complained of a headache. “I have a fever,” he said. He, the one who never gets sick. Never. (He’s one of those anomalies who works too hard and goes too fast to ever catch up with himself, let alone a cold.) So when he mentioned his fever, my heart sank. Upon speaking to a doctor, we learned that a “tummy ache” is a Covid symptom for children.
We slept maybe a total of two hours in three days. Or at least that’s how it felt. We alternated between taking care of ourselves and pulling shifts with the little. Just when I was planning to wean her from breastfeeding, she needed a sense of comfort the most. So here I was, Covid-19 positive, breastfeeding, while on my cycle, of course, staying up all night to monitor fevers and breathing.
So no, my body didn’t feel like a wonderland that week. But, OK, sure, I’m positive it is that (thanks for the lyrics). More than that, though, my body is a miracle.
It’s a miracle to still be standing, after all we’ve been through. Not just our family’s bout with Covid, but everything we’ve been through. Collectively and individually. To be breathing, inhaling peace, and exhaling whatever it is that doesn’t serve me. I think about how just two years ago I went through an intense seven-layer surgery, also known as a C-section, to bring “the miracle of life” into this world. And here we are, being reminded that miracles happen every day.
Have you told yourself that lately? I’ve started to remind myself of this after our recent Covid experience. Being in touch with myself reminds me of the miracle that is my body. Gratitude helps me feel it. Attempting to be more present is yet another path to being aware of this miracle.
Whether down and out with Covid or enduring a C-section or constantly giving of myself to the sacrifices motherhood requires, my body is proving to be the miracle I never knew I needed.
