Four nights ago, our little one Lucas developed a fever. He came into our room late at night. We pulled him into our bed and gave him some Tylenol. A couple of minutes later, he threw up in our bed. After we cleaned things up, he struggled to sleep but found comfort in being near us.
The next night, because he spent most of the afternoon napping, Lucas got up very early, around 4 am. After it became clear after his crawling around in our bed he was not going to go back to sleep, I got up with him and watched some cartoons with this. And by "watch with him," I mean dozing off on the couch while Lucas watched cartoons and jabbed the remote into the face whenever a show was over so I could start a new one for him.
Two nights ago, Lucas woke up at 2 am upset. I comforted him, and after five minutes of trying to sleep with him in our bed, I walked him over to his room and crawled into bed with him. I remembered that having him fall asleep in his bed and leaving him was a lot easier than him falling asleep in our bed and then trying to transfer him back to his bed. I ended up sleeping with Lucas for a couple of hours and heading back to our bed for half an hour before I needed to get up before the kids. It was Christmas morning, and I wanted to be up before the kids.
Last night I went to sleep late, having spent the late evening packing to visit my parents in Seattle the next morning. The plane flight was in the morning, and I planned to get up around 6ish and sleep around 12:40.
This lack of sleep and all of the preparation and activity for Christmas was what had already drained me before facing today. When I got up, my mom texted me and told me our flight had been canceled. She was concerned since Seattle had been having issues with flight cancellations all week. Even though the weather was fine on both ends, our flight had to be canceled, and after some frustrating work, we realized there was only one feasible way to get to Seattle later this week which didn't work with my winter break schedule.
I tried to sleep a little bit, knowing my kids wouldn't be up, but that didn't work. So I got up, emptied the dishwasher, and made myself breakfast. Later my children got up one at a time, and I told them about changing plans. We were sad together, but we did have some bright sides, like being able to go to a local family part now could go to because we were not traveling out of town.
So I made my kids breakfast and we watched a movie with my kids on the couch, which was the first time I sat and watched a movie for a long time. Most of the time, I'm on the treadmill working out when I watch movies. Afterwards I decided that was enough time to mope about, so I got in gear. We all went to the grocery store, and we got back home. I spent an hour cooking for the party, got it all ready to go, and we went to the party. The pressure, and concentration of cooking helped me feel productive, and it felt good to set out a goal and make it happen.
In the past 24 hours, I've dealt with the stress of packing for a trip, on little sleep, and then having that trip yanked away, taking a moment to breathe, and finally getting in gear. This is the work of parenthood. It is unforgiving and requires a depth of strength that I sometimes struggle to find in myself.
While I'm really sad and disappointed about how the last 24 hours worked out, I'm proud that I exhibited the strength my mother has always believed was in me and handled this situation well. Thought it all, I did right by myself and my family.
In tough moments knowing you did your best doesn't take way the sadness, but it bring forward pride, and that's something.
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