Liam puked last night in his sleep. It was in his ears, in his eyes. It was actually up the wall and onto a canvas picture he has above his bed. And the smell. Oh heavens the smell. I actually checked twice to make sure he didn't poop himself. Andy held his hand over his nose while stripping the bed. I simply mouth-breathed and hoped for the best.
When your kids are sick, it's so easy to get upset. I was in a dead sleep. And I do mean dead. Since Liam's been sleeping through the night, I go into this catatonic state where not even a nuclear bomb could rouse me. I'm making up for lost time, I suppose. 2+ years of a non-sleeper? I'll take what I can get. But I heard this abnormal coughing and my mommy senses roused me in an instant. My mom always said she knew when her kids were sick, even if they were miles away. I now understand this to be true.
Andy was a champ, I must say. I went into Kamikaze Mommy Mode and started hurling out orders. Liam- to the bathroom. Daddy- strip the bed and throw it in the washer. No, I don't care that it's chunky. Liam- let's get this yucky clothing off and get you cleaned up. Daddy- put a fresh sheet over Liam's bed. Doesn't matter if it fits. Liam- let's brush your teeth. Yes you must use the minty paste. Yes I know you hate it.
Wash in washer via Andy. Clean PJs on. Liam cuddled up in the clean bed, ready to try again. Daddy in bed. Mommy rocking Liam to sleep. 20 minutes tops. I text my husband a high five from the next room. We totally nailed this vomit.
Episodes like this totally give me hope. Episodes where Andy and I handle a really tough situation with grace and ease. Like, the car, for instance. He knows he freaks. I know I cower. We are both grown up enough to know this needs to change for the good of the lodge. We can't live life like this. Baby Number Two is fast approaching conception. We need to grow up before then.
Today was my last Gilenya. No MS meds until the baby is born. That could be a year. Two months off Gilenya, and then off the pill in May. Then trying in June. I feel like God has "okayed" this timeline and set it in motion. But something hit me yesterday as I realized this is it:
This is it.
The ball is rolling. Getting back on that med is ridiculous. My chances of relapse are higher now that I'm off it. I trust God will bring me through this...but I don't really trust him. Lip service. God, I love you and I trust you with my life, but. Please don't take my legs. Or, like, my vision. You can go ahead and allow me to be morning sick...okay I'll take um...fatigue... but like, no drop foot or like, permanent loss of use in my right arm. So God, I trust you 100% and everything you say is correct and true. Okay so, okay, take my vision. Okay fine. But like, don't like take it before my baby is born, because I want to see him or her for the first time. And if you HAVE to take something of mine, I guess you can take my right leg again, but PROBABLY not my left, because my right is still gimpy from the last time you...
And on and on. We all do this. YES LORD, YES! In church on Sunday. When the worship team has your hands in the air and God is present and your heart is FULL. But those scary nights when you're on the john for an hour, because the radiation from the last test you had is trying to eek out of your system...um, God, this isn't going to last MUCH longer. Right? This isn't going to hurt too badly...right?
It's like going to God- I'll follow you ANYWHERE. Just please, don't send me to Africa.
Jesus, you are my all in all. I give my life to you. Please, just no diseases.
Father in Heaven, everything I am is yours. I am clay in your hands. Just please don't let anything painful happen to me.
I'm laying in bed next to my son, who still smells like vomit, and I'm thinking about my mom. I text my husband in the next room: So, did your mom ever seem like she was scared when you guys got sick? He answers: Nope. I write back: Did it ever seem like she was out of control of the situation. He responds: Nope. Mine either, I conclude.
I think this is why boys get married to girls, and then they panic
because she's not like mom. Wait. She gets tired? She comes home from
work and doesn't have supper really INSTANTLY?? She doesn't know how
to cook that ONE THING I need to have RIGHT NOW? If I had a dollar for
every time I heard my husband say, "Oh, it's fine. Just not like my-"
Shut up. I'm not your mom. Some day Liam will meet a very lovely girl
who is also not his mom, and I'm going to give him a talk: honey, she's
not going to be like me. Not everyone can be a perfect female
specimen. Just ask your father.
When my house burnt down, I was 8. I remember every second of that day as if it were yesterday. No part of it is hidden in my mind. One thing that sticks out is my mom- she had to be taken to the ambulance and given oxygen. I was checked, and then released into the arms of a woman I had never met, who held me and rocked me and told me about insurance and how everyone was safe and that was the important part. But my mom...she wasn't there. She was having a panic attack (which as an adult looking back, I don't blame her- my goodness, she's watching everything they've ever worked for go up in flames) but she wasn't there. I remember it was the first time I had ever seen her vulnerable, and it terrified me. What? Mom has feelings? A year later, she gave birth to my sister at age 40. Again, looking back as an adult, I can't imagine the panic she must've felt. Pregnant at 40? In 1994 it was just about unheard of- and this pregnancy was completely unplanned. But she got through it. Looking back, I can't remember a time until maybe my teenage years, where my mom didn't have it all together except that one day that changed my life forever. Mom is human.
So it won't be easy, but what pregnancy and labor is? Will I relapse? Probably. Will I continue to trust God? As long as I have breath.
Man. That "dying to self" stuff... it's for real. In the meantime, I'm going to apply for my passport, you know, just in case God decides to send me somewhere.