My beautiful baby is sick. I held my slightly cranky girl all day yesterday and her body was warm against me. I comforted my overheated girl, thinking not too much of it after a busy day of playing. But then she cried, and I picked her up again, and her fingertips were hot and I kissed her forehead and felt the heat transfer to me and I knew she was sick.
Cuddles, Motrin juice, water, milk, and more cuddles. That's what we have done for over 24 hours. I spent the night on our couch, sitting up with her cradled in my arms - the only position that soothed her tired, aching body. And now her fever has gone, but my body is weary and sore. My shoulders ache and my neck isn't turning without pain. But that's what mommas do. We love them over and over, using everything we know how to do to ease them, even at our own discomfort.
Today I brewed an extra strong pot of coffee, made some cookie bars, and started some bread. We will wrap ourselves in blankets, watch movies, read books, and enjoy our "home day."
She'll cry. She'll fuss. She'll bury herself in me. And every so often she'll emerge smiling, sing a song with me, and play with the girls. But those are just minutes in every few hours, and before I can finish brushing my hair she will be back in my arms, head on my shoulder.
Last night, in the hours after the late late news, but before the early news, while I sat holding my baby, I wrote in my mind today's post. And, of course, when the light began to pour into the living room where we lay, the thoughts left my mind with the remains of the dusk. And I think that's okay. I have plans and schedules as I try to be more proactive in my writing, but sometimes those sweet moments are the ones unplanned.
I spend so much time trying to create fun and meaningful experiences for my girls. We will visit zoos, farms, museums, parks, and landmarks. We go to dance, soccer, art, gymnastics, dance, or swim. We bake bread or cookies or cakes or juice. We paint and create and make music together. And in my head these are the things they will remember and hold onto.
But what if that just becomes the background? What if all the activities that we put into their lives pool together and the things they remember are days like today, when momma held them without letting go and there was always space on the couch and room on my lap.