I had one of my toughest days this past weekend when Pesh, my eldest daughter got a mad attack from chicken pox. It had began a couple of days into the week surprising us as we thought she had already surpassed it considering her age and the many children who got it and interacted with her the last seven years of her life. Her sister was one of them.
“Mama look!” she yelled, “I got the chicken pox! See?” she showed me a couple of swells and they looked exactly like her sister’s. She had swollen lymph nodes behind her ears all right. I braced myself for one long weekend of complete isolation.
Seeing my eldest child get the chicken pox at this point made me wonder if I was in danger of getting it as well… I mean my immunity could as well be just like hers, hiding it, waiting for the ‘perfect’ moment to let it out. The more I thought about it, the more I got paranoid.
‘I should probably stay away from her’. I thought to myself wondering how horrific it would be for an expectant 30-year-old me. I put the children to bed and sat to enjoy my habitual happy hour, with movies and chevda.
The children’s door suddenly flung open and Pesh appeared from behind it. I thought she was headed for the bathroom. “You alright?” I asked, expecting a usual nod.
The spot-infested girl immediately broke down, shaking her head copiously and murmuring, no. “I can’t sleep mama!” she wailed. “I’m all itchy!’ She walked to me and I sure as hell wanted to hug her, but I was a little scared for myself.
I almost pulled my hand halfway out of my sweater to pat her with it. Forty minutes later, I had sponge bathed her with lukewarm water and she lay, fast asleep on my lap, peaceful, arms spread all over me like she had intentions. Too late to keep off, we can only wait to see what happens now.