Sofia was sick this week. All of you moms know that when you say your kid is sick, you are really saying, “my life is hell.” Having a sick kid is synonymous with no sleep, patience tried, hurricane house, and awful feelings of helplessness.
I am a lucky woman because usually my husband gets up with the baby if she wakes in the middle of the night, which is actually rare. This is our agreement because 1)I carried her for nine months, delivered her and then breastfed her so he owes me big and 2)he can go back to sleep in less than one minute, wheras I take a good hour to fall back asleep.
But, I have Wednesdays off of work, so when she woke at ungodly o’clock on Tuesday night (Wednesday morning?) I got up with her. She wanted to go downstairs. She wanted apple juice. I knew that if I went downstairs with her we’d never go to sleep, so I opted for the guest bed instead. She was not happy.
Not only did she not let me lay down but she would not allow me to lean on the headboard. I had to sit up, holding her 30 pounds of sorrow and somehow get her to stop crying without getting out of bed. Forty-five minutes later the crying stopped, and she would allow me to lay down while she sat next to me, whispering things. Patience is not my strong suit and neither is lack of sleep (somewhat challenging traits as a mother frankly). Needless to say, if she understood what $100 was, she would have had it just to be quiet and sit still.
Just when I think that it’s either going to be her or me, she puts her hands on the sides of my face, looks me in the eyes and whispers, “I wuv ew Mommy.” Then she gives me the sweetest cuddle hug.
This and giant eyes are how babies secure their place in the world. Purity and sweetness always prevails. I am so glad for it.