Today is my 36th birthday. I had grandiose plans of drinking with my friends and having a kid-free dinner – maybe a boat ride at my best friend’s lake house {nice perk, huh?}. Then, this week, my four-year-old son got sick – really sick. Enter, the mom pity party.
He had a fever for six straight days – up to 104. The trick of alternating Motrin and Tylenol would not bring it down. He was hacking, and his breathing was affected once again. He had a chest x-ray – no pneumonia. He tested negative for strep throat and the flu. We took a trip to the ER. No doctor could figure out what was wrong with him. Last night, I took him back to the doctor – a double ear infection and 3 vials of blood drawn to test for mono. He was petrified. The nurse and I had to pin him down so that she could take the blood. Finally, a new antibiotic was given. We were hoping this would finally be the remedy.
Today, on my 36th birthday, my son woke up fever-free. It has been the best gift I could ever receive.
I envisioned today being all about me – my free time, my time away, my own fun. But it’s not and that’s OK. I type sitting outside on our back patio. My fingers occasional lift to pull my warm coffee mug to my lips. I hear the loud hacking of my husband mowing the lawn. The aroma of freshly cut grass dances around my nose. My eyes peer up to see my two children building castles in the sandbox, sometimes flicking sand in each other’s faces. They need me and they love me. I don’t need a fancy dinner or time away.
I was selfish in throwing my private pity party. I’m good at that.
But, this view is far more beautiful than a dark bar with friends. Motherhood tricks us like that – daily. We feel so overwhelmed. We need a break. Then, something happens reminding us what it’s all about. Being consistently selfless can be hard. I can easily admit that because this motherhood thing did not come naturally to me. I also had no idea how this challenge could be rewarding. It’s not in its daily blunders, of course, but things happen that take your breath away.
Before my son got his blood drawn, he was crying into my arms. His nerves had him shaking. My two-year-old daughter noticed this and climbed up to the table and said, “Brotha. Here, hold my hand and squeeze weally weally hard. Neva, eva wet go.” I needed that moment. Maybe I’m not doing so bad after all.
At the end of typing this, I have gotten up to get two snacks, help a potty-training two-year-old, broken up three fights, and filled up two water bottles. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Until the next time a kid gets sick again that is – then, I’m sure there will be another mom pity party. But hopefully, I can easily regain my gratitude and positive perspective that my kids are my blessing.
What do you do to help prevent your mom pity party?
