Nothing tugs at a parent's heart strings more than the sights and sounds of their sick child. A pale-faced, droopy-eyed wet noodle who hides under a blanket, occasionally letting out a moan that's supposed to translate into "more water."
Feeling sad and helpless, the maternal instincts kick up a notch. When my son needs his back rubbed, I leap over the counter to his side in less than 2.5 seconds. If my daughter wants a cool rag, I fly to the closet for a wash cloth, zip to the sink and soar to her tiny body, placing it gently on her forehead. And the Noggin television marathon enters its ninth hour while the wet noodle drifts in and out of sleep.
Such is the life of a sick child home from school.
Unless it's pink eye.
I think the ailment is misnamed. Cotton candy is pink. Sunsets are pink. Newborns are pink. Pink eye is a goopy, crusty, watery, flaming red eye infection that is so contagious people catch it just by looking at an infected eyeball. Understandably, kids with pink eye are banned from school. Why do kids struggle to share anything but germs?
So there we were, the second week of school, and my son was out with a bad case of pink eye. His eyes were red, goopy and uncomfortable, and I felt bad. For both of us.
Yes, that was me pouting after I phoned the school to say he would be absent. Yes, that was me furrowing my brow, reconstructing my entire day because it suddenly had a kid in it.
You see, kids with pink eye may be out, but they aren't down. They aren't wet noodles hiding under the couch, watching a fifth episode of "The Backyardigans." They still possess the energy of two dozen kittens laced with catnip - and the bloodshot eyes to match.
So they run around the house touching everything in their path, and all you can do is follow them, bacterial wipes in hand, repeating the same order: "Wash your hands!"
God bless antibiotic eye drops. They kill the bacteria, relieve the child's symptoms and, most importantly, get them back to school in 24 hours.
Please understand: I love my kids, I really do. But freedom is critical to any mom's success. When it's spontaneously snatched from her at the hands of an infection poetically referred to as "pink eye," it gives her pause. And justified moments of self-pity.
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