The sound of footsteps and then a little voice saying, “Mama, I don’t feel so good,” is how I woke up Saturday morning. You know how the rest goes, before my eyes could open and my arms move to pull her to me, she went “blergh” right next to my bed.
And so it was an early morning with the lights flicked on and as I strip her from her pj’s, J gets the carpet cleaner and then I sit on the edge of the tub washing my girl as I hear him scrub the carpet. We’ve done this before, you know.
“I think I’m sick,” she tells me in the case I’m not sure and the full to the brim day we’d so carefully planned the night before is changed in a blink.*
I look in the mirror and decide a few curls will tide my hair yet over another day , I do this more than I care to admit lately. I resign myself to the fact that we won’t be going and doing much today after all as though it were all life-changing and important things to tend to.
I don’t sit still long, this is my biggest flaw I think. I like to be moving and doing and going but even the night before my body was telling me to slow down. I went to bed the night before in pain, sharp shooting pains and more Braxton Hicks wincing and whining to J. I knew my body was saying, slow down, slow down. But most often I don’t listen. I am an over-doer by nature. I see a blank weekend and I can fill it in 10 minutes flat with places to go and people to see and projects I think we might be able accomplish. I think this both excites and frightens J depending on what it is I’ve filled a weekend with.
So Saturday morning, J and I go back and forth on who will take H and the bigs to H’s basketball game and how will the rest of the day look and before I know it it’s just E and I and the house is quiet.
They returned from the game with a carmel macciato in hand for me and E who’s clean and freshly pajama-ed on the couch. I send the boys to a movie as I settle into the corner of our sectional for likely the first time in six months since we’ve owned it and decide I’m not moving. My body, my soul, everything about me needed this thing that I so desperately fight.
Miss E laid on one end of the couch as I’d let her pick which Netflix movie she would watch next over and over and Miss M 0n the other end with her kindle, me in the middle with a book, the old fashioned kind, but a new one that my soul drank up.
I made it 24 chapters before realizing E was asleep and M was getting hungry.
Reading is like eating to me. I read a lot. Some days it’s a book I am really into, other days articles and news I am interested in, still other days I catch up on blogs. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again I don’t understand the ‘no time to read’ epidemic. I may not sit down to read often but I do it nonetheless.
By Saturday night I was already growing restless and craving time with J so once our littles were in bed and M at a friends we left T in charge and grocery shopped like the old, married couple we are.
The entire list of things I wanted to get done may not have gotten done Saturday and it was certainly not the day I had in mind last week as I planned out our four day weekend. But it was ok because it was better.
*E’s totally good to go now, her sickness was a one time deal. We realized later that she may have an allergy or intolerance to some food she had eaten the night before since this was the second time this had happened recently.