I Want My Mommy!

When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into my mothers bed while she was sleeping and burrow under the covers as fast as I could—making a little “cave” with the blankets to hide in. After about a minute or so, my mother would pop open her eyes, leap out from under the covers, and stick her head in the cave, while attempting to tickle my cover swathed body. “Who is that hiding in my bed?” She demanded while we both spasm with laughter.

I am lying in bed, sick and bored, and I have never wanted my mommy so much. I keep hoping that if I burrow under the covers, maybe some magic will make her face appear like it used to when I was little. But, no matter how many times I try, my trick never works—she is still in Oklahoma.

Getting sick is probably the most difficult part of college. Back home, I would be curled up on the living room couch right now, watching endless episodes of West Wing, while my mom made me split pea soup. Instead, I am stuck in my noisy dorm (which fluctuates between being frigid cold and balmy more often than a woman in menopause), eating an only slightly repulsive dining hall salad, and avoiding a small mountain of homework—I miss my mommy.

The thing I hate the most about being sick is having to get my own soup. I know that sounds very spoiled, but I liked that I never had to exert the effort to get up off the couch and get my own food. And, I miss being hugged—a lot.

Earlier in the week, when I first got sick, I was determined to be a trouper and suck it up. I don’t need my mommy. “Rebecca, you are a college student,” I tried to tell myself in a mom-style slap down, “Suck it up, getting your own soup is not that bad. It is not like you are in the hospital!” Despite the annoyingly surly side of my mind, which pointed out that at least in the hospital there would be a pushy nurse in Scooby-do scrubs who would bring soup to me, my self talk did sort of work.

It worked, that is, until I talked to my boss…who is sick as well. “I hate not having my mom when I am sick. That is the worst—still.” That small comment quietly dropkicked my shaky resolve not to mope. You mean this feeling never ends?!? This woman is a mother herself—if she still misses her mom, than I am forever doomed!

But, I am hopped up on enough medication to still feel the need to learn something besides self-pity from this experience. So, here it is—no matter how mature and put-together we may seem, no matter if we are mothers in our own right, or simply striving to convince ourselves that we can be adults, when life give us lemons, we all need our mommies to sit by our bed and tell us everything will be alright.

But, I have managed (and the help of some happy, symptom relieving little pills) for the last three days to pull myself away from my pillow and self-pity, and get myself a cup of soup. Even though I know I can manage without her, I think I will succumb to the temptation and call my mom.