The other day I found myself hovering over the toilet bowl for the third time in an hour. I threw up and sighed.
Then a little hand gently patted my arm.
“You sick again, Mommy?” my preschooler asked.
“Yes. I’ll be okay.”
She nodded, her hand still on my arm. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” she said. “The baby will come out before you know it and you won’t be sick anymore.”
As a mom, I’m supposed to be the one doling out empathy when my kids’ cheeks are stained with tears or when their fists are furled in frustration. They’re supposed to be the takers and I the giver. Yet, I often find the tables turn, and I’ll feel a small paw on my back or a child will be reaching out to hug me or will be offering me an encouraging smile. These small but meaningful gestures leave me feeling loved, understood and very, very grateful to share my house with children who are always looking out for me.