Since I dedicate so much of this blog to expressing how much I love being a mom to my two precious kids, I think you will humor me with what I am going to say next…sometimes motherhood stinks.  Especially on weeks like this one when I’m sick and just want to lay in bed all day and can’t because there are little people around that need my help (or in Roark’s case, need constant supervision to be kept from dangers that lurk within his arms’ reach).  That to me is when motherhood is it’s hardest…when I’m not on my A game.  I mean, if we are being honest, it’s not a walk in the park even when I’m feeling my best, but when I’m sick, it feels nearly impossible.

Before I had kids, I hardly ever got sick.  And now that I’ve got them, it seems I’m never well.  This is definitely not a “chicken or egg” situation.  I know exactly what’s making me sick…these kids with their little germ infested hands and showing no remorse after eating food that’s been found on the floor (despite my gagging noises afterward as I try and fish it out).

I just can’t help but think this motherhood gig would be a lot easier if I weren’t sick all the time.  I mean, wouldn’t I be better at cleaning up my child’s puke off the floor if I didn’t have to stop in the middle and empty my stomach contents as well?  And wouldn’t I do a better job of feeding and clothing them if I wasn’t shivering from fever chills so bad I couldn’t even make a coherent sentence?  I guess these fall under the category of “Thing’s I will ask God when I get to Heaven.”  At the rate I’m going, that doesn’t seem too far away.

This month has been a hard one for me with stomach viruses and fever bugs, and my family has been very patient.  As my sweet husband will attest too, when I don’t feel good I like to make all those around me miserable as well.  What can I say…it’s how I cope.  When I’m sick, I find myself feeling resentful that I’m so needed around here and wishing for a day when my kids are self sufficient and don’t need me for every little task.  This kind of pity party is good for no one, and only causes me to feel worse because I’ve been, shall we say, less than loving to my sweet family who has done what they can to help.  So maybe this post will serve as my official apology to them for the way I’ve been acting.

I’m sorry for being short and snapping at you for no reason.  I’m sorry for wishing things were different in our stage of life when I spend so much effort trying to cherish these days.  And I’m sorry for overlooking what you’ve done to help only to point out what you haven’t.

I think for Lent this year, I’m going to give up being a jerk.

There are very few things I hate more in this world than stomach viruses. However, there IS one thing that can top the misery of a plain stomach virus and that is one while you’re on vacation.

Our last night at the beach, Edie woke me up around 2:00 a.m. crying in her bed. I immediately knew what had happened from the smell that filled our room. I said a quick “thank you” to God that we weren’t sharing a bed, and then went running to the bathroom for towels.

I’m always surprised how well I handle her throwing up, and if I can name only one example of my “motherly” instincts kicking in, it is in these circumstances. In the moment, you know it’s totally gross and by all logic you should be gagging right along with your kid, but that all gets forgotten because your top concern is consoling the child who doesn’t understand what is happening-or in this case, keeps happening.

The rest of the night was spent waking every half hour or so for her to puke into another towel, console her, and put her back to bed. It was a very long night for all of us, including my mother, but man, was I glad she was there. Her “motherly” instincts were kicking in too by washing towels and linens, leaving me free to cuddle the patient.

The drive home was pretty miserable having had no sleep and Edie still not finished puking up everything but her toenails, but we were women without a country, or in this case, a condo, so there was nothing left to do but get in the car and drive home.

It took her about forty-eight hours to fully recover, which really was perfect timing because that was when she decided to pass the baton on to me. I have yet to really shake it completely.

This past week has been the pits, or as Edie likes to call it, the “arm pits”. She actually thinks that’s what this horrible virus is called. I, however, have another name for it, and it’s not near as cute.