It's a Thankless Job

Dear Nicholas,

I am so sorry you were sick last week. We had a rough night, you and I. You were up crying every hour or so, and I would rock you and stroke your hair until you fell back to sleep. And just as I would drift back to sleep, you'd wake again.

The next morning, I paced the house for over 20 minutes carrying your 35-pound body, because that's what soothed you. My back ached and my arms burned, but you found it offensive to sit, so we walked. When you finally fell back to sleep, I gently laid you on the couch then hurried to answer work emails and knock out a report that was due. Just as I hit send on the last email and was ready to lie down and rest my eyes for a bit, you woke back up. We resumed our pacing until you shook off your nap and were ready to eat.

At lunch you stole my sandwich, but I didn't mind, because I was just happy you were hungry. You were kind enough to shove some milk-soaked goldfish in my mouth in exchange. That was thoughtful of you.

After lunch, you seemed to be feeling better and we spent the afternoon playing. You had slept long enough in the morning that you weren't tired for an afternoon nap. Although I was exhausted, it was nice to have some alone time with you for once, and I happily played with your "guys" and let you climb and jump on me.

By the time we picked up your sister, I was running on fumes. Three hours of sleep just doesn't do it for me like it used to. So, I let you two have some TV time and we all cuddled on the couch. At one point, you suddenly jumped on my lap. You wrapped your little arms tightly around my neck, gave me a big kiss, and said, "Love you, Mommy." And as I looked down at your smiling little face, my exhaustion melted away and I thought, this is what it's all about. This is why it's all worth it.

Then your dad walked through the door. And you shoved me out of your way by my face and ran to him as fast as your little legs could carry you. And you've barely looked my way since.

So, as I sit here on my third day of a burning throat and a headache that won't quit, I say to you, "I'll remember this." And in about 15 years, there will be a Saturday night when both you and Lainey want the keys to the car. I hope you know how to ride a bike by then.

Love,
Mommy

So happy together...before Mark got home

The Stolen Sandwich