I remember clearly the first time I thought I had feelings for a boy. In 2nd grade, Mrs. Murphy’s class, I sat across from Justin. His toe-head, blonde hair matched mine. He never made fun of my braunschweiger sandwiches. He quietly went about his work and never got in trouble.
One particular morning while carpooling to school, I whispered to my imaginary elf friend (I’m really going deep into the vault here, readers) that I liked Justin. I felt butterflies in my stomach admitting it aloud. I tucked my elf friend into my pocket and smiled out the window. I wanted Justin to like me back.
The day went on like usual, as 2nd grade days routinely do. Justin sat and did his work. I sat and did mine. Our names were never called out or written on the board. Obviously our goodie-two-shoes nature showed we were meant for each other. I bet I tried to talk to him about whatever it is 2nd graders talk normally discuss. I might have chased him at recess.
After morning recess I remember feeling the butterflies in my tummy again. I remember thinking, “This is LOVE!” and really believing it. In my eight-year-old head I demised that crushing on someone caused tummy flutters and a weird feeling.
…until I threw up my eggs from that morning.
As a daughter to two full time employed, collegiate-level educators, I never missed school. You better believe I received the perfect attendance award several years in a row. I think my 4 day-long case of bronchitis in third grade broke my record.
But that day I went home sick
(and not love sick).
Laying in the nurse’s office, waiting for my mom to pick me up, I put the pieces together. Love didn’t mean gurgling bowels. But love did mean my mom leaving her class to pick me up from mine when I needed her. When she saw me, she asked me if I had felt badly that morning. I honestly I didn’t know how to answer!
I’m battling the flu over here, and thankfully I have Mike to take care of me when I’m sick…and love sick!