Wah. Wah. Waaah.
I was about to deliver the best acceptance speech ever, with a perfect combination of witty humor and heartwarming truth, when I was slapped awake by my sweet, weak, sick little baby Indy and was reminded why that trophy was ALL MINE, imaginary or not.
Indy began a fever Saturday night and continued all day Sunday. Whenever my kids have a fever I give it a couple days to see if they can work it out on their own before I take them to the doctor. I don't willingly give antibiotics if I don't absolutely have to and when Monday rolled around and the fever reducer was only mildly helping him, I took him in. Sure enough, ear infection.
He and I were snuggled in the bed together late into the night and despite me turning him on his back every so often, he'd flip over to his stomach--his absolute favorite sleep position. I rubbed his warm back and watched the moonlight and silence take over the room. I thought about how I am everything to this little boy. Everything. And while yes, Eugene and I have an indestructible love for one another and always will, this is different. Eugene doesn't need me the way this beautiful gift of mine does. Suddenly Indy began stirring and I thought maybe it was my back rubs that frustrated him since he tried to reach around and move my hand away (at least that's what I thought he was doing.) He tossed and turned and began hitting around in the darkness until his hand finally found mine and struggled until our fingers interlocked into our perfect little puzzle. Immediately he calmed himself, tucked our conjoined hands under his body and quietly went to sleep.
Instantly my heart swelled, tears surfaced and the beauty of it took over. This is motherhood--right here in the darkness, tired and weak, this is what it's about.
My hand! All that he wanted was my hand to comfort him.
I tell ya, I couldn't have been happier anywhere else and in any other moment than I was right there in my bed with Indy. I fell sound asleep with a smile on my face.
Several hours later around 3:30 AM I was woken by Indy's crying. Crap--his fever struck again, poor baby. I rolled outta bed, turned on the light and hooked him up with a fever reducer. I checked his diaper and sure enough there was a little poop so with one sleepy eye open, I stumbled over to grab another diaper and robotically began changing him. I yawned. I swayed. I yawned again. I was thankful it would be a quick job but I tried not to think too much as I didn't want to fully wake up and then dammit, I dropped the wipes on the floor. Which you'll soon come to know was the WORST POSSIBLE CASE OF BUTTERFINGERS IN THE HISTORY OF EVER. As I grabbed them from the floor, steadied my balance and began ascending upright, I was startled by the sound of a cork popping. And then in what can only be described as a vicious paintball attack, I was assaulted with hot, wet, flying shit, everywhere. I stood in utter disbelief with my mouth gaping open, which coincidentally, DIDN'T HELP THE SITUATION. Are you kidding me right now? Ever play Angry Birds? Well, ya know that one bird that launches into mid-air and if you hit it at the right apex it splits up into like, three or four birds? THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HIS SHIT DID! It started, I suspect, as one solid unit and then suddenly and inexplicably multiplied and velociraptored me from every angle! And to boot, it's antibiotic poop---have you ever dealt with medicated feces? IT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING!!! All over the sheet and all over me! I mean, movies couldn't have staged a better scene than what had just unfolded--the timing was that perfect.
Automatically I smiled, and the hilarity of it all took over. I take it all back, this is motherhood--right here in the wee hours, alone and resilient, covered in shit, this is what it's all about.
Now about that trophy?