It's more than a bit of a cliché to point out the unpredictability of raising children — especially considering how predictable things can be (reasonably speaking). The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. For example, there are milestones we can expect as they reach certain ages, both physical and cognitive, ranging from sitting upright and feeding themselves to walking and attending school, and with some good fortune, reaching adulthood and entering society. We can also reasonably predict that illnesses will be part of the journey, especially considering our children are being exposed to all sorts of wonderful viruses and infections while attending daycare or school. Although we can reasonably predict things like this will happen, the exact moment is where unpredictability comes into play. I may know my child will walk someday, but that doesn't mean I'll be ready for it.
One of the most challenging experiences as a parent is when illness strikes. Just because I was aware that children get sick doesn't mean I was prepared for it when my daughter experienced her first significant illness. At twenty months old, she caught her first stomach flu just before Christmas. It was winter, and she had never been to daycare, but that didn't stop her from catching whatever was going around from trips to the supermarket or wherever else we had taken her.
It was a devastating experience for us as parents. We had never felt so powerless to help her. Her pediatrician advised us that viral infections simply had to run their course. Unfortunately for us, this illness happened at a time when Zofran wasn't as readily available as it is today. All we could do was keep her hydrated, and hope she could keep food down, which was challenging. We learned the hard way that all trips to the doctor required a puke bucket, and at the apex of the virus running its course, the puke bucket became mandatory at home as she did not always make it to the bathroom in time. I have vivid recollections of her being completely exhausted in my arms as her tiny body fought off this tenacious virus. Did I mention how powerless we felt?
My daughter had puked multiple times into that puke bucket, only to have it cleaned by her mother and returned to her side so she could use it again, only my daughter didn't want it anymore. It was at this point that my wife's defiance bubbled to the surface of my daughter's personality. My daughter had simply had enough of being sick and she wasn't going to take it anymore. She was going to fight this off with her entire being, and the only tangible item she associated with her illness was that BLASTED BUCKET! She kicked it with all her might, and did not want it anywhere near her. She wasn't sick because of a viral infection! She was sick because of that bucket! It was simultaneously adorable, heartbreaking, and admirable, and despite our best efforts to convince her otherwise, she wouldn't allow that bucket to come anywhere near her, and you know what? She got better.
She had overcome The Tyranny of Buckets.
She had overcome The Tyranny of Buckets.
