Plot Monkeys

I’m back. Not at 100%, but the flu I suffered last week just about kicked my backside, and there’s a lot of backside to kick. Part of my misery was having a fever for five days that topped off at 102 and the other part was having my daughter nearly as sick as I was.

But I learned something very valuable while I was sick.

On Friday (I think…could have been Thursday or Saturday for all I know) my doctor put me on a cough medicine that had Vicodin in it. Now, anyone who knows me understands that I have an aversion-bordering-on-phobia about taking prescription drugs. Probably stems from the horrible reaction I had to Percocet after my c-section ten years ago. But my cough was so bad I’d bruised my insides and coughing hurt, so I took the medication.

Ugh.

I was out of it. I could not keep my eyes open, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t see straight, much less do anything necessary to take care of myself or my daughter.

And that’s when I learned something.

My daughter is very maternal.

Now, some of you might not think this is a surprising thing. I’m extremely maternal. I always have been. I have two younger brothers and as my mother worked, I was expected to take care of them quite a bit, which I did, though I never once thought of it as babysitting, probably because my grandmother was usually supervising. I love babies and will be the first person to take an infant out of a tired mother’s arms so she can get a few minutes of peace when we’re at a party or something. If a neighborhood kid gets hurt, chances are they’ll run to my house for TLC before they go home to their own mom.

My daughter being an only child gets, therefore, a lot of attention. And let’s not beat about the bush–she’s spoiled. Not spoiled rotten (most of the time!) but definitely the center of my universe and she knows it. So it was with great pride and surprise that I learned that when the chips are down, she can turn on the maternal instinct to get done what needs to be done.

I had to eat, but didn’t have the energy to get out of bed, so she went to the kitchen and made me something to eat–her first “cooked” meal ever. It was just a peanut butter sandwich, but from a kid who doesn’t even eat peanut butter sandwiches, I was impressed. And she was so proud of herself. In fact, it was she who said, “Momma, I don’t think you’ve eaten anything today. I’m going to make you something.” I was too drugged out to register much and I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to turn on the stove or anything.

She sat in the room with me the whole day, playing quietly on her Nintendo DS or reading while I drifted in and out. We watched a movie together and she refilled my water (along with hers) and kept taking my temperature. She was as close to Florence Nightingale as a little ten year old could get and I was so proud of her. She never once asked me to do anything for her for an entire day.

I don’t really know why I’m surprised. She’s a very caring child. She’s just incredibly self-absorbed. And like Leslie’s youngest, she’s frickin’ brilliant. If I told you her IQ, your eyebrows would pop off the top of your head. (Mine did when I was told.) But like many kids who are very smart, she tends to live in the clouds and be very unaware about pesky things like how other people are feeling about things. But when the chips were down, she came through in a big way.

Maybe that’s what made me feel better!

So…have your children ever surprised you? Good ways? Bad ways? And if not your kids, someone else’s?