I come to you as a tired, weary soul. From my last post, you know that my little man was recovering from RSV, a nasty little respiratory virus. After a trip to the doctor, he now has a sinus infection, pink eye (in both eyes), and a double ear infection. The doctor’s office joked that our son would get a plaque in his honor in HIS ROOM. Yes, he has a room they always save for him, because it is big and the touch screen-wall-thing works to keep him entertained while we wait. It seems that over the past year and half of his life, we averaged a trip every 2-3 weeks during the winter months. The nurses know him by name and dote over the cute little boy as he waves and struts past them; the doctor offers condolences seeing my disheveled and anemic appearance.
Sometimes, being a mom is really hard. Not in my normal sarcastic tone of “I am just kind of bad at this”. It is gut-wrenchingly hard to have a sick kid that you watch in misery. It shitty to not be able to do anything to make them feel better or get healthy faster. It is hard to have a career and to have to take so much time away from work, especially during a peak time in which you aim to prove your worth. It sucks to ask your husband to take the kid to the doctor in your stead, not because your husband isn’t capable and willing, but because it somehow makes you less of a mother. It hard because you are physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. You are running on yesterday’s coffee, pretty sure you also have a fever, and you just want to lay around like you used to do when you didn’t have a kid. Then you feel guilty about your thoughts of reprieve from motherhood, because how dare you to think that.
I have been giving 200% over the last week and find myself still lacking an ability to get ahead of the game. I feel completely depleted and void of any holiday spirit.
Last night, I convinced the Mexican restaurant to give me a margarita to-go when I picked up dinner. I put the kid to bed early at 6:30, with no bath, covered in refried beans; he is used to being crusty with snot and pinkeye anyway. I isolated my husband to our room, since he is sick now, too. I nestled in the guest bed, binged watched Hulu, and drank my mango margarita. It was my birthday, after all.
As I sit here in the thick of it, I’m not sure how to make it to the other side. My kid may never know much self-doubt I have being his mother, how hard I am on my own decisions, and how very hard I try to do it all. I want my own mom to come take care of me, wipe my tears away, and just make me feel better.
In the peak of my exhaustion, I rocked my son after waking up from a coughing fit the 3rd time. He finally fell asleep as I held him. I recorded his snores in the dark for over a minute. It’s stupid I know, but who knows when I may have the moment ever again.The truth is this time will pass. One day, I will be rested and operating at my best. My heart is heavy knowing that I wish the days away. My son is growing so quickly. All too soon, he won’t want to snuggle me so close (sharing his pinkeye so generously), we won’t hear his innocent little giggle, and the sound of his feet running down the hall. We will move on to bigger problems than crusty eyes and low-grade fevers. It is okay to have bad days, or weeks in my case.
This is my reminder to always find a little joy in even the hardest days to help my heart from aching so much and acknowledge what I know in my head; I am giving everything I have and it is more than enough.