A Sick Child: A Mother’s Night Vigil
- Gogo_Noma
- Jun 14
- 4 min read
There is a version of motherhood that people often celebrate. The laughter, the milestones, the first words, and the endless energy of a toddler running through the house.
Then there is another version of motherhood that is rarely spoken about. The version that sits awake at 2 a.m. listening to every breath. The version that checks a forehead for the tenth time in an hour. The version that silently wishes she could trade places with her child and carry the discomfort herself.
My son is one of those children who seems to wake up with a fully charged battery every morning. Most days, I look at him and genuinely wonder where all that energy comes from. He wakes up ready to explore the world. He jumps, runs, climbs, laughs, asks a hundred questions, and somehow still has enough energy left to keep going when I am already thinking about bedtime. I often find myself saying, "Slow down," but if I am being truthful, I admire that energy. I admire his curiosity, his excitement, and the way he throws his whole self into life. The sound of his little feet moving from room to room has become part of the rhythm of my days. His laughter has become part of the soundtrack of my life.
And then he gets sick.
A sick child changes everything. The house becomes quiet in a way that feels unnatural. The toys remain untouched. The television plays in the background without anyone really paying attention to it. The endless requests for snacks disappear. The little adventures that usually fill our day are suddenly put on hold. Instead, there is stillness.
It is strange because on the busiest days, I sometimes long for a little peace and quiet. Yet when sickness comes, I quickly realise that what I called noise was actually life. The silence of a sick child carries a weight that is difficult to explain unless you have experienced it yourself. I find myself watching him more closely than usual. Listening more carefully. Praying more intentionally. Waiting for signs that he is returning to himself.
One of the hardest parts for me is when he loses interest in food. The child who is normally happy to eat suddenly turns his head away from meals. Snacks that would usually disappear in seconds are left untouched. That is when I start measuring progress differently. A few spoonfuls of food become a victory. A sip of water becomes encouraging. Half a biscuit feels like progress. A smile, a laugh, or a few moments of play become signs that things are moving in the right direction.
I also notice something else happens when he is unwell. I stop paying attention to myself. My focus narrows completely onto him. Did he eat? Did he drink enough water? Is his temperature improving? Is he sleeping comfortably? Before I know it, I have forgotten about my own needs. I skip meals. I postpone rest. I ignore my own exhaustion.
Motherhood is slowly teaching me that this is not sustainable. Caring for myself is not separate from caring for my son. It is part of caring for him. I need to eat, not because I feel like it, but because he needs me strong. I need to rest when I can because he needs me present and alert. A depleted mother cannot continue pouring endlessly. Being exhausted is not proof of love. Mothers deserve nourishment too.
Before becoming a mother, I thought I understood love. I loved my family. I loved my friends. I loved my work. I gave so much of myself to my calling and to the people around me. Yet motherhood introduced me to a completely different kind of love.
It is a love that rearranges priorities without asking permission.
A love that changes how you pray.
A love that makes another person's wellbeing feel deeply connected to your own.
Nobody really prepares you for that part. Nobody tells you how your child's comfort can become more important than your own. How their smile can brighten your entire day. How watching them suffer can make everything else seem insignificant for a moment. Suddenly the things that felt urgent no longer matter. The to-do lists can wait. The emails can wait. The chores can wait. All that matters is seeing your child comfortable, rested, and healing.
As difficult as these moments are, they always teach me something. They remind me not to take ordinary days for granted. The noisy days. The messy days. The days when there are toys everywhere and questions that never seem to end. The days that leave me counting down to bedtime.
Those days are blessings.
The healthy child running through the house is not a disturbance; it is life. The endless requests for attention are part of the privilege of motherhood. The energy that leaves me tired by the end of the day is evidence of wellbeing.
It is only when sickness arrives that I am reminded of just how precious those ordinary moments truly are.
So tonight, my heart goes out to every mother sitting awake beside a sick child. The mothers checking temperatures in the dark. The mothers sleeping lightly so they can hear every movement. The mothers carrying worry behind brave smiles. The mothers trying to stay strong while feeling exhausted.
May you remember to care for yourself too. May you find moments to eat, rest, and breathe. May your child recover fully. And may the laughter, noise, and endless energy return to your home soon.
Because sometimes the most beautiful sound in the world is hearing those little feet running through the house again.
Mommy Check-In
When was the last time an ordinary moment with your child reminded you of just how precious everyday life truly is?
I am Gogo_Noma, a mother to a King 🤴🏾, and this is a page from my journal: Mommy Moments.
Reminder: You are doing a good job, Mom. ❤️
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