“Count blessings, no problems.” -unknown
I could feel the deep, heavy sharpness of a chest cold making itself at home in my body. Thinking to myself that all I needed to do was put one foot in front of the other until 7 pm, and I could finally rest and reset before waking up to do it all again tomorrow.
God had other plans.
The moment I saw my husband’s face, only one short hour before bedtime for Bennett, I knew it wasn’t going to be the night that I had planned. My husband was rarely sick, and when he was, and openly so, it was most always a doozie.
Driving him home, I then got dinner on the table and put my son to bed while my husband laid asleep on the couch. I quickly joined him once Bennett was asleep and settled in for a movie and then an early bedtime.
In bed by 9:30 pm…never truly asleep until 12:30 am… waking up every 20-30 minutes to my son yelling from the other room as he yet again threw up all over himself.
Shower. Fresh pull-up. New sheets. Settle him back to sleep. Tip toe across the hall, quietly slipping back into bed without waking my husband.
Finally, between 12:30 and 3:30 we all got a little bit of sleep…when it all started back up again.
Not exactly the night I was desperately needing. But with each call from my son’s room, I whispered prayers for strength and compassion…mostly compassion. And with each entrance to his bedside, I found another layer of strength and softness that I was unsure I was capable of giving.
It’s a new dawn, and a new day…and while I do not exactly feel fine; I’m functioning…enough. We’ve made it through the morning, and while my husband and toddler are sound asleep upstairs, the house is full of the smells of homemade soup. The sounds of sizzling and the bubbling coming from the stove takes me back to those rare days of staying home as a child when I was sick. The sounds of “a Baby Story” reruns on Lifetime TV. The smell of soup and grilled cheese. The taste of ginger ale popping on my tongue. The feel of being loved and cared for by my mom as she tucked me in on the couch, and the smell of the hospital on the scrubs she had yet to take off.
And while I have no doubt had moments today where I have felt defeated and overlooked…as I sit here, I am realizing that I get to be those memories of love and service to the people I love today. I get to create the memories of smelling homemade soup coming from downstairs and sharing warm snuggles on the couch on these, in some ways, special days that happen so rarely.
…and so while I admittedly grumbled to myself as I was cutting up leeks in the kitchen that it doesn’t seem fair that I have to spend the whole day juggling puke bowls and cups of tea instead of being cared for myself…
…maybe I am, after all, the lucky one.