Sometimes I feel like a washing machine
Late last night, after cleaning up puke for the nth day in a row (I've lost count, think dozens), I lay awake in bed listening to the washing machine. And thinking about how, quite often, my life is very much like that washing machine.
Working myself into a frenzy to make everything right, all the while knowing the rightness will only last a few days. Or even just one day. Or, as we have been living lately, a couple of hours.
Aden has been very sick. As sick as he's been in his whole life. High fever stretched over several days. And when I say high, I mean like 105. I never knew a human's temperature could get to 105. Of course the worry and sleepless nights have worn on us, but perhaps the worst of it is the drastic change in him. This precious little one, happy, lively, rambunctious, with an unquenchable zest for life, reduced to a burning, shaking, moaning, thumb-sucking heap who could barely lift his head.
He seems to be coming out of it. Praise, praise the Lord.
We are also struggling with Trey. Apparently an issue we thought was taken care of well over a year ago, um, isn't. He has regressed severely, and we have no clue how to parent him through this, not knowing whether the underlying problem is behavioral, psychological, or even physiological. And my default way of dealing with it turns me into a person I hate.
So if life is like a washing machine, we're on the agitate cycle. And thus is motherhood, no? A roller coaster like none other. Feeling like things have spun out of control, and knowing at the same time that you are indeed blessed beyond measure.
I wouldn't change a thing. Well, I might change this most recent sickness and regression for the sake of the boys. But otherwise, I wouldn't change a thing.
Just sometimes, I feel like a washing machine.
Working myself into a frenzy to make everything right, all the while knowing the rightness will only last a few days. Or even just one day. Or, as we have been living lately, a couple of hours.
Aden has been very sick. As sick as he's been in his whole life. High fever stretched over several days. And when I say high, I mean like 105. I never knew a human's temperature could get to 105. Of course the worry and sleepless nights have worn on us, but perhaps the worst of it is the drastic change in him. This precious little one, happy, lively, rambunctious, with an unquenchable zest for life, reduced to a burning, shaking, moaning, thumb-sucking heap who could barely lift his head.
He seems to be coming out of it. Praise, praise the Lord.
We are also struggling with Trey. Apparently an issue we thought was taken care of well over a year ago, um, isn't. He has regressed severely, and we have no clue how to parent him through this, not knowing whether the underlying problem is behavioral, psychological, or even physiological. And my default way of dealing with it turns me into a person I hate.
So if life is like a washing machine, we're on the agitate cycle. And thus is motherhood, no? A roller coaster like none other. Feeling like things have spun out of control, and knowing at the same time that you are indeed blessed beyond measure.
I wouldn't change a thing. Well, I might change this most recent sickness and regression for the sake of the boys. But otherwise, I wouldn't change a thing.
Just sometimes, I feel like a washing machine.
Comments