Where to begin...

I’ve finally been able to come up for air. Sweet sweet air that doesn’t char my nose hairs with the stench of vomit and diarrhea. Among the many infirmities that afflict us during the sub-zero cooped-up months of January and February, norovirus has got to rank as Number One Intestinal Virus I Never Want To Suffer Through Again. Ever. Aside from your standard projectile vomiting, continual fecal expulsion and agonizing gut throb, there’s the critical job of protecting a 25 pound toddler from dehydration. Petrifying. If there was ever one reason for breastfeeding my sweet Papoose extendedly, this was it. He regressed to his six month old appetite and nursed exclusively for seven days, all day. I held him close as his pale body nursed to survive, only to hold him close as his shivering body rejected my milk back on to my shirt. I went to him throughout the night, changing his soiled footie pajamas and crib sheets, soothing him, cradling him, wishing I could make it all just disappear. I held my Girl’s hair behind her head as she wretched and sobbed, begging me for medicine. These are the moments of motherhood that rip your heart from your chest and twist it into unimaginable knots of panic and helplessness. Children, the small children who lay their heads on your chest and believe you when you tell them you’ll take care of them and make it all better, are the reason. The reason I’m not the selfish person I once was. I would gladly take nursing my children back to health for days over self-indulgence and reckless abandon. This job is some worthwhile shit.

Looking ahead to my weekend…..

One curled hair-do and frilly party dress for the Father/Daughter Valentine’s Dance, one Family Sports Day at a local university, one birthday party at the bowling alley, one birthday party at the ice-skating rink and one sleepover. The one take-home test pertaining to human physiology and ergonomics and the four assigned poems in need of analyzing may have to hang around until Sunday afternoon. The three loads of laundry beckoning to be in a folded state may just have to sit tight until Monday. Oh, the kitchen cabinets I’ve been meaning to introduce to Mr. Clean? Not gonna happen.

March? Where art thou? Release me from the frigid confinement of winter and giggle in my ear as I glide down the hill on my toboggan. We will wait patiently, noses anxiously pressed against the living room window, waiting…..waiting for the thermometer to rise above -3°.