The Difficult Days

One of my aunts always tells me being sick represents the hardest part of being a mother, single or otherwise. As an unwell individual, you need to stay in bed and rest, and yet practically and logistically that becomes impossible; by default, you come last.

Today, Shabbat, I experienced a combination of (best guess) oppressive Jerusalem heat leading to exhaustion and dehydration, combined with some version of food poisoning. I spent much of the day running back and forth to the bathroom, trying to take care of Raphaela's needs in between, during the "good moments." And when I needed to rest, Raphaela would come nuzzling up to me, or she would crawl off into some corner of the kitchen and (no exaggeration) start ripping up tiles.

I had to prevent Raphaela from getting hurt, of course, though I could barely move without feeling nausea, or a shooting pain in my intestines, or the spreading numbness in my hands. She finally fell asleep around seven pm, at which point I took a cold shower, simply to feel semi-human.

Today was difficult in itself, and it also reminded me of the less fun aspects of Raphaela's pregnancy: the first four months of nausea, unable to even think about most foods without vomiting. The next three months of intermittent constipation and sleeplessness. The last three months of constant muscle aches because a certain someone fetus was pressing on my back. Labour without an epidural.

Yes, Raphaela is worth all of that, but I question my ability to try for a second in the future, on my own. I don't know if I could go through the fertility treatments and the hormone shots and the pregnancy, while taking care of an active and growing child.

Then again, today she started giving me (and every stuffed animal in the vicinity) kisses; with such amazing loving energy coming from my first attempt, how could I not think about another?