Thanks to morphine, my moment wasn't ruined

I spent Saturday morning in the ER getting juiced up on anti-nauseau meds, morphine and re-hydrating my completely barfed-out body.  My own momma drove me from the ER back to my home where I promptly crashed in my bed.


After The Daughters' basketball games were over (they won!), my family returned home and I continued to lay in bed oblivious to anything but the fact that the world was spinning.

In early evening, Daughter 1 crept back to the bedroom and said, "Momma?  I'm just supposed to check that you are still breathing."  The warmth in her words truly touched my heart, and I snorted an affirmitive-type noise and continued to snooze.

Daughter 2 was the next to sneak back.  "Momma," she said as she crawled up the foot of our bed and laid her head on The Dad's pillow. "I just want to snuggle with you."

Clearly, it would not be in the best interest of anyone in our house (or the world) for that matter for Daughter 2 to be this sick.  I raised my head (or thought I did) and said, "Honey, you can't be by my face.  Too many germs.  I am so sorry.  We'll snuggle tomorrow, OK?"

Quick as a flash, she flipped herself over so that her feet were on The Dad's pillow and her head at my knees.  She threw her little arm over my thighs and said, "I'll snuggle down here with you, Momma."

This, when a momma is sick, is a luxury.

Ahhh... It may have been the morphine jerking my chain, but her love for me and her need to be near me in my time of ailment brought me to tears.  I sniffled a few times and thanked God that I had been blessed with such a sweet and caring family.  Then I heard Daughter 2 sniffling as well.

"Honey," I whispered, "Are you alright."

"No, Momma," she said as she scurried from the bed and made her way out of my bedroom, "I'm not alright.  You stink.  Really bad.  You need a bath."  And she slammed the bedroom door as she left.

If the morphine hadn't been doing it's job, I might have been offended.