After my last child was born, I became extremely ill with a profound episode of Systemic Lupus. Confined to bed for three months, my son's infancy held no joy for me. I found myself secretly regretting having another child, then suffered from an overwhelming sense of guilt for having such thoughts. Struggling with illness for the first year of my son's life, his infancy remains a blur. The mother-child bond did not come easily with the burden of my physical condition and my baby's fussy disposition. This too, caused feelings of shame and inadequacy. I repeatedly entertained self-pity, feeling I had been robbed of the pleasures in my son's infancy. How unfair it was, I thought, that I be so sick at a time every moment should be savored. There were days I thought I just couldn't make it, that I couldn't do it for another twenty-four hours, but somehow I managed. There were nights I cried myself to sleep, sobbing so deeply I'd make myself sick to my stomach.

      The years slipped by, as they so quickly do, and my son grew into a happy child. He has become the inspiration in my life, enlightening me with the wonder of his sparkling imagination and gift of humor. He's already begun to read and is so eager to learn more. Yet, he's every bit a typical little boy, full of energy and unrelenting persistence. Often I hear myself yelling, "You're driving me crazy!" as he follows me through the house, making messes faster than I can clean them up. I've thought how marvelous it would be when he started school —- wonderful for him to have children to play with and such a relief for me to have time alone.

      Now that the age of Kindergarten has arrived, I know my baby is officially on his way to adulthood. My daughter is sixteen, a junior in high school, and I can still remember her first day of Kindergarten as if it were yesterday. My son will soon be driving a car and find interest in a woman other than myself. For now, he wants to marry me and live with me forever. He says he loves me all the way up to heaven and I know just what he means. I love him more than I could possibly put into words, even if he does drive me crazy sometimes.

      I think of evenings when the fatigue of single parenthood and chronic illness has been so over-whelming my emotions bounced like a ping-pong ball between anger and depression. Those seem to be the instances my children are the most uncooperative. In brief moments of insanity, I'm tempted to throw my hands in the air and walk away from it all. I know there will surely be plenty more days like that before my son is grown. Yet, I cannot imagine how desperately that young mother I passed in the hall must wish her little boy was as wild with energy and mischief as mine. Watching this mother and child administered a fresh, full dose of gratitude for my impish little monkey-boy and his impossible adolescent sister.

      Seeing the tired expression on her face as she patiently guided her limping child, I suddenly felt like the most ungrateful person on earth. I know with all my being the tremendous love, hopes and dreams that only a mother experiences for her children. They are her breath of life, her purpose in the world, and to see her child hurt or struggling is to know an indescribable pain which penetrates her soul. There is nothing I wouldn't give, sacrifice or endure to protect and benefit my children. To see them living secure and fulfilling lives is my greatest aspiration.

      Though I still contend with the responsibilities of both mother and father while coping with the physical pain of an incurable disease, this young mother and child changed my world. It all suddenly becomes nil and void in my mind when compared to the incurable bereavement this mother endures. How her heart must hurt when she encounters a mother like me with a child like mine. Would she not thankfully suffer my illness in exchange for a normal son?