In Sickness & In Help

I’ve reached two weeks of being stuck at home with kids who are simultaneously too sick to be in public but too well to be cooped up— especially when the Motrtin takes effect. I get the privilege of holding my oldest as he cries thanks to a nice broom whack to the forehead. I should applaud my sons’ creativity. The lone dirty diaper that hadn’t found the trash can was turned into a ball and the broom was functioning as a bat. It only took one swing for my sons to realize it was a bad idea. Should have choked up on the bat. Or, you know, not attempted to play baseball inside.

I’ve reached the stage that I don’t even know what to do with these shenanigans anymore. Do I fuss at them? Do I laugh? Do I cry? It has been two long weeks since both of the big kids have been at school at the same time. To quote DMX, “Y’all gon’ make me lose my mind up in here.”

I’m being slightly overdramatic, I’ll admit. I’m not as sick as when I had strep. It’s the difference of acute, fast moving illness versus exhausting, obnoxious, lingering cough. This is the most recent development in approximately 8 weeks of on and off sickness for all of the members of our family. Strep throat and pink eye and virus, oh my!

I am worn down from being sick and being the caretaker of the sick. Worn down from canceling and rescheduling therapies and appointments, and then canceling and rescheduling them again because someone else is sick. Or going anyway, masked and handling business while I try to think straight and not spread my germs. The world doesn’t stop when mommy has a lingering sickness and a baby who is the current reigning champ of sleep regression. Oh sweet goodness what I wouldn’t give for some uninterrupted sleep.

I had been swimming along through these illnesses, head down, one stroke after the other, staying afloat. Not pleasant, but getting by, keeping my head above water. This week however, I hit a wall. One smooth stroke, straight into a wall of exhaustion and general over-it-ness.

Yet, despite how tired I am, despite wanting help, I struggle asking for it. To accept help, I have to fight the misplaced idea that I should be able to do this all on my own. I have to fight against the lies that tell me I am a failure if I can’t manage things by myself. It does not come naturally to me.

Monday, I stupidly brought slime into my home. After allowing myself to be otherwise occupied, I returned to the scene to find purple splattered on the wall, floor, couch, carpet, four accent pillows, a blanket, two sets of pajamas, and a pair of slippers. Everywhere but the place it was supposed to be. The spatter pattern looked like a scene out of CSI. I texted my friend, needing to voice my frustration, feeling like I had reached the final straw, arbitrary as it might seem. That wonderful woman lamented with me, she expressed frustration on my behalf, reminisced over her own similar experience, and told me how to get it out with vinegar.

Tuesday was another tough day, and I went straight into Wednesday morning a wreck. I woke with circles under my eyes so dark it looked like smudged makeup remnants. I texted another friend, cancelling plans, and venting again on the difficulties of sick parenting sick children. She listened, she validated my frustration that she understood too well, and then she offered help. Of course, I turned it down. I couldn’t process how anyone could help our mess, especially someone with kids to keep healthy too. Then she offered a meal. I fought the urge to politely decline. Hours later she was dropping off a crockpot meal and running away from my house, presumably to Lysol herself before getting back home.

It’s hard to be in this season of motherhood because life can be overwhelming. But when I can get over my pride and accept help from my friends, they teach me so much. They teach me the beauty in a listening ear, in practical and nonjudgmental advice, and how the simplest acts can mean the most. They remind me that even in this hectic life, I can be that person for someone else too (as long as I don’t share these germs).

“Little children, we must not love with word or speech, but with truth and action.”

1 John 3:18 (HCSB)