Just a healthy little boy with a double ear infection and green snot and a nasty cough who will be making his third doctor visit in four days in about twenty minutes. Surprisingly though, I’m not too knocked down by it all, even though he was up all night until I finally took him for a walk at 5am and he fell asleep in his warm cuddly, well insulated Bob. I had forgotten how many people are up at that hour, standing in their kitchens. I am glad I’m not them.
I am tired though.
Life is extraordinarily hard right now. But in a normal banal way. After the not-normal extremely extraordinarily hard life of twenty-one months ago, I am in the grand scheme of things fine with it.
I don’t need to be fine with it. Babylost Mamas are as entitled to be worn out and overwhelmed by sick kids, pressing deadlines, mounting bills, as is anyone else. We aren’t required to be extraordinarily grateful that we even have the chance to be snotted on, sleep deprived, months behind on work.
But sometimes, like right now, I am. When Baby Man’s fever hit 106 and we flew off, down the same road that could take us to the cemetery where his brother is buried, I thought as I came to a particular intersection, “There’s no reason to panic. I’m turning right here. To the doctor, like the most normal mom in the world.” He’s just sick. When we got to the doctor and he wouldn’t sit on the examining table because he wanted to be hugged by me and the doctor had to exam him in that awkward position, I was sad that he felt so miserable. But happier than I could have ever imagined that I had a son to comfort.
And we’re off again.