I spent a great deal of Friday catching up with friends I don't see nearly as often as I'd like. When you're as insanely popular as I am, you can't possibly see everyone all the time. It's just not feasible, people.

But if I could just hang up my popularity pompoms alongside my ego for a moment, something else happened on Friday that really hit me that I need to write about: I caught those same people up on what had been going on over the last few months, including the tale of Spawnling vs. the sudden scary illness. I was asked for definition, details, diagnosis. I talked about how he slept for an entire week, stumped the doctors for several days, recovered miraculously despite the very real concern he may have something far more sinister than what it thankfully turned out to be.

And I realized, quite suddenly, that what so many other parents have told me was right: You never "get over it." That, while seven months have gone by since a rare autoimmune illness called Kawasaki Disease befell my then two-year-old baby boy, the trauma is not gone, the wound is not healed, the very real fear that I can lose someone so special and so important is still present and accounted for. Telling the tale brought up a lot of emotions I thought were gone. I'm not over it and I probably never will be.

But unlike those dark days so many months ago, there's a more positive quality to the memories now.

My friend The Guilt Goddess and I have talked a fair bit about hospital promises. They're a lot like pillow talk; honest in the moment, but quick to fade into something more realistic in time. See, after sex, emotions run deep and we're quick to say just about anything. However, the "I love you"s of Saturday night turn into the "So, like, I'll call you sometime"s of Sunday morning. The "Yes, baby! Oh yes! You can have a Lexus!" post-date-night becomes "Is a used Volvo okay?" over before-work cappuccinos.

Hospital promises are similar, in that they're made during a time of high emotional involvement. I only got a taste of the type of things we'll swear off of or onto when our children are very ill. Spawnling was in a hospital bed for a few days, while The Guilt Goddess' Jacob was there for months. I tip my hat to her keeping her sanity (mostly) intact after seeing her son fight a brain tumour with everything he's got. (I say she's 'mostly' sane because she ended up befriending me shortly thereafter, so we know not all her solar panels are facing south, if you know what I mean.)

Anyway, hospital promises, in my limited experience, are also a lot like new year resolutions. They're made with gusto and a lot of willpower. You really don't think you're ever going to have chocolate cake again, but actually you will - just maybe a little less of it. Here are some of the things I promised during those scary days at Spawnling's bedside:

If my child gets better:

- I will never yell at him again
- I will never argue with his father again
- We'll start taking vacations
- We'll spend lots and lots of time together
- I will never complain about the little things again
- I'll never take him or his brothers for granted again, ever

Don't they sound wonderful? They're so full of positivity and determination, aren't they?

Ahem.

Now, let's fast-forward a few months down the road. Spawnling is, by all accounts, very healthy and has made a full recovery. We know his first two echocardiograms were good, so the chance of a potentially lethal aneurysm hiding in his ticker is unlikely, although he will continue to be monitored every so often for he rest of his life. Still, this mother's fear has lessened, the adrenaline has left, the depression and worry have lifted. Let's take a look at The Maven's revamped list of hospital promises, shall we?

Now that my child is better:

- I will never yell at him again except when I do
- I will never argue with his father again except when he deserves it or I'm PMSing and just need to bitch about something
- We'll start taking vacations when the magical money tree suddenly sprouts from the ground in our backyard (still waiting)
- We'll spend lots and lots of time together but I'll sometimes wish we spent just a little less time together, especially when all you want to do is talk about Star Wars or call me stupid
- I will never complain about the little things again except when they don't seem so little, which is actually quite often
- I'll never take him or his brothers for granted again, ever -- and I don't. Ever. Still.

See, that's the difference. I was always grateful for them. But as much as they drive me completely insane sometimes, I'm even more appreciative, more amazed by them, more captivated by the things they do, say, think, feel. Why? Because sometimes Spawnling will run into the room and say 'Mom! Check this out! It's my lightsaver, a green one, but maybe a double-sided red one because those are cool and chop off hands better' and I'll get a flash of him lying helpless in that big white hospital bed with tubes and monitors around him, and I'll remember how fortunate we are to have dodged a proverbial bullet and have him home safely.

I still remember that; I won't ever forget it.

And then I think about how any of my little gremlins, at any time, could suddenly not be here tomorrow. But instead of being deathly afraid like I could be, I choose something better: I choose to appreciate that they're here, today, and celebrate that.

Except when I'm getting punched in the arm. That's not so celebratory-like. I take a break from my happy place when that happens.

I've learned that it's okay for things to normalize and for some of that hospital pillow talk to become more realistic again. It means I'm not afraid and sad and angry every day anymore. I'm a mom who will never get over what happened to her son, but maybe in a better way than I thought. And that's a good thing, because I'm awesome like that.

Finally, the Guilt Goddess said it was okay for me to write about her as long as I say how much she curses me every day for getting her hooked on shows about hoarders. I'm guessing any promises made about The Maven probably involve voodoo dolls and a lot of swearing. No Lexus for me.