We have ushered in February with blow-out diapers and drippy green noses. Bubble gum Amoxicillin and cherry Tylenol flow with tedious regularity. Foreheads are dampened, humidifiers and filled, sheets are changed, hands are washed and washed again.
Lullabies welcome the breaking dawn, and prayers for healing and peace are whispered over my babies as they drift back into restless slumber.
I don’t foresee us getting out of pajamas any time soon, and that is okay. My primary concern right now is just comfort and care. So we heat up soup, and fill sippy cups and bottles with orange juice and Pedialyte. We set up train tracks yet again, and we far surpass the “recommended” allowance of TV watching. We snuggle and sneeze and share a smile.
And in the midst of the fatigue – through the haze of sleepy crud in the corners of my own eyes – I think, this is what I’m supposed to do.
Being a mom is so much harder than I ever would have guessed, both physically and psychologically. Lately, there have been so many more “I hate this” moments than “I love this” moments.
But as I wiped up a face-full of snot off Erin this morning, she grinned up at me. And Seth stood at my side, waiting patiently to have his nose dutifully wiped, too. And then he smiled at me, too.
And while the February sky is colorless this morning, in my heart and in my home, sun shines bright. I can do this.