Mindfully Mothering

The little monkey had a high fever last night. He clung to my hand through the night, his little body venting steam as he burned out the virus that was attacking his system. His small hand felt like a hot brick in mine.

When my children are sick, I have a powerful feeling of unease in my belly. It isn’t always a conscious worry because most of the time, I know that they are fine. It is a more visceral, instinctual sensation.

I think about all the other women around the world holding sick babies. Many of them don’t have adequate health care (or even food and water). I know I can reach for the Tylenol and bring the fever down. I know I can pick up the cell phone and call our wonderful doctor. In my comfortable life, I have so many resources.

And yet, the pit of my stomach does not always know these things.

I think about the women throughout history who have nursed babies through terrible epidemics, have lost their children, sometimes more than one, and had little support or even hope. Somewhere in my body, this memory still lives.

As mothers, we are more than just ourselves. We are part of the collective consciousness of women throughout time and space who love our children, who fear for their survival, who hope for their happiness and feel their pain.

The next time you lie awake in the night with your sick, restless children, remember that you can reach out and touch that connection, that deep wisdom of all other mothers.