…family is there to help you clean it up. Or at least buy you a new fan.
It’s been a hard few weeks. I had a horrible cold (the kind where you are constantly blowing blazing-yellow snot out of your face), found out I was having a miscarriage, and then apparently ate something that I was either a) allergic to or b) was poisoned.
None of that is important. What is important is that I have been leaning very heavily on family to help take care of us. My husband worked overnight, slept for four hours, took me to the doctor, worked again that night, and then stayed awake to watch the kids so I could take Magic Miscarrying Pills. That is some serious commitment. I really don’t know how he does that. After being awake for 18 hours straight, I’m pretty sure I’d drug our children and duct tape them in front of the television.
Not to go unnoticed, my son has really, really come through for me. Yes, I know he’s only five. He is a very helpful, responsible, obedient (mostly) five. All of this must be hard for him to understand. I’ll be fine one day and the next day there will be surprise cramping. He has dutifully helped us keep the household trucking along. He’s brought me blankets, helped with laundry, fed the pets, fed his sister, cuddled me when I needed it…
I went to bed at 1 a.m. last night (there was a good reason, I swear…no, not TV…an actual good reason) and woke up at 6 a.m. to stabbing pains in my abdomen. Around 6:45, Boy Q woke up and I whispered to him that I was sick and staying in bed and could he please, please feed the dogs?
Boy Q: “Uh, okay, sure. Could…I…get some white barbecue chips (read, regular potato chips) to eat? Maybe?”
Me: Pause. “Yes, sure, yes. Whatever.”
Boy Q: “Yes!”
Me: “Share with your sister.”
And an hour later…
Boy Q: “Mom!”
Me: “Oh my. Boy Q, no, I’m still sick. Don’t touch me. Dad will be home soon from work.”
Boy Q: “Can I have a drink?”
Me: “Dad will get it for you. Soon. Boy Q…”
Boy Q: “Yeah?”
Me: “You know that thing that I warm up in the microwave? Can you just stick it in the microwave? And press ‘1’?”
Boy Q: “Sure. Yeah!”
Me: “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Now you should know that I don’t normally encourage my children to use our microwave on their own. But people! I was in pain! I pushed aside the visions of my heating pad exploding into flames. Boy Q didn’t let me down. He triumphantly carried the heating pad back upstairs.
Boy Q: “Here it is! Can we have chocolate peanut butter?”
Me: “Yes. Have whatever you want.”
I laid in bed all morning. I valiantly soldiered through today, but it wasn’t pretty. I won’t forget how sweet he has been to me and I am so grateful God blessed me with a kid who is so willing to help. Let’s hope he carries that with him into adulthood.