I left my kid at grandma’s. With a fever. It’s not terribly high, and she’s had some Tylenol, and she has no other symptoms, and she ate her breakfast with her usual gusto. But still. I know there’s nothing I can do for her that grandma can’t do, but I still cried when I walked out the door. Oy, the guilt.
And, it’s compounded by the fact that last night she woke up crying and I was adamant about not picking her up and rocking her. Because she has been known to cry for a long time in order to get what she wants – someone to pick her up and rock her, whereupon she will fall peacefully back to sleep with a smug little grin on her face. And then after you put her to bed, a few hours later she’ll wake up again and start the whole thing over. So we quit picking her up in the middle of the night to teach her that she needs to go back to sleep on her own. I thought she was just being particularly persistent with her crying last night, but after an in-bed argument with the hubby (he wanted to rock her; I said no way), he went in to get her. He rocked her for a while, then I heard him head down the hall and into the bathroom. He was getting the thermometer and of course, she had a fever (100.6). So I felt like quite the Mother of the Year. We gave her some Tylenol and she was up for another hour or so before going back to bed until 6:00. Her temp was down to 100.2 this morning – the Tylenol had worn off so we gave her some more and I took her to grandma’s. Who, by the way, looked at me like I had two heads when I told her Lauren had a fever. In the whole Good Witch/Bad Witch scenario, I am clearly the Bad Witch. Glenda the Good Witch would NEVER have left her children when they were well, let alone when they had a hot little forehead. The Bad Witch has copy to write so she can help pay the mortgage.
The smart ladies over at Working Mothers Against Guilt would tell me it’ll be okay and not to fret. It’s not like Lauren’s puking her brains out or dealing with a raging case of the flu. Can’t help it. I still feel guilty.