To be honest, everything seemed to be going rather smoothly. Dinner...coloring..playing...bedtime...
One asleep, one close. All by 9:30-WHAT?
If it seems too good to be true for us at the Casa, it is.
One screeches for no reason other than she is by herself in her room. The other wakes up wailing. I go to get a bottle and then hear the last thing I want to hear. Vomit. Upon entering the dark abyss of his room, I find it isn't just vomit, but apparently somewhat projectile in nature as there are drips along the floor toward the door. Awesome.
He's scared and clinging for dear life (after I stripped him, 'cause well, mama don't play that). I'm trying to calm him so I can strip the crib, wipe it down, wipe down the floor, find new pajamas, sponge bathe him (thank the good sweet Lord he didn't actually get any on himself, just his outer layer of pajamas), and deal with a screaming banshee also knows as Li'l G.
The phrase "the devil is a bastard" might have escaped my lips a few times along with some pleas and prayers to get that bastard out of the Casa.
Then it happened. Miraculously, it happened. After I calmed down, and the banshee quit yelling at the top of her lungs, I pleaded with her, too. I, in quite exasperated tones, explained that her brother was sick, that I really needed her to be calm and stay in bed and go to sleep. I then decided (clearly by inspiration of the Holy Spirit because I had no brain cells functioning at this point) I would get her involved and asked her to lay quietly and pray for her brother because he wasn't feeling well. She was elated, and added 'for daddy too!" Yes, for daddy too my little honeybear, for daddy too.
Silence. From both kids, silence. I rocked the little one back to sleep. While that long hour prior was fraught with tension and mothering badly done on my part in many ways (screaming back at the banshee perhaps), in that moment I was content. The now silent banshee praying in her bed. The little boy was snuggled in my arms. Both kids so very sweet and such a gift to draw me out of myself. I thought of and prayed for all the single mothers out there who have to do this on a daily basis. I even felt a little bit of satisfaction that despite my failures that evening, at the end of the night, we rolled up our sleeves, fought through the muck and came out alive on the other side...even if the babe did get up again a couple times. We did okay - we made it.
|He seems to be feeling much better today...|
Sometimes I build up the horrors in my head. Sure, not everything is a walk in the park, but we aren't playing house. These are real little people growing and learning and living, and we are real bigger people growing and learning and living. The process is messy...sometimes more than others as I found out last night...but we don't really gain anything staying clean, staying safe, staying away from the mess. Motherhood (parenthood) is a mess, but it is a beautiful mess when you let grace lead the way.
That said, the Casa is much happier now that the Hubs is safely back. Godspeed to him for the night I'm away on retreat in December!
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