Ah, the memories

It's amazing how being a parent brings back so many memories of having been parented. This has happened along the way during the past three months with Henry, but was brought on in a particularly visceral manner yesterday when I opened up a prescription for amoxicillin and saw that chalky pink liquid of my childhood. Henry has come down with his first ear infection, and is being treated with this antibiotic, as I was so many times. I suddenly remembered the handy spoon dispenser and the taste of that bright miracle elixir that made the whooshing sound in my ears finally cease. And later in the day I remembered camping out on the couch, being taken care of by my mom. Henry and I had our own camp-out Monday night, since I figured it was easier for me to sleep on the couch next to him and answer his hourly cries than to get out of bed and walk into his room each time he woke in pain and upset. When I mentioned this to my mom during one of our multiple phone calls yesterday, she was able to relate, because that was what she'd done with me and my siblings when we were sick. I had forgotten that--or at least hadn't thought about it-- until she mentioned it. So it's not just the conscious memories that are jarred by the sight of an antibiotic, but the unconscious things we do based on those memories and lessons that are buried deeper; like how to lay next to your sleeping child all night so that you can be a constant comfort, even if it means you don't get any sleep

Thank you, mom, for taking care of me when I was sick. For the many sleepless nights and doses of penicillin. And for teaching me how to take good care of my little Henry.