I have a sick-y baby.
A fever spiking between 104 and 105, coughing fits shaking her tiny body, a struggle to breathe through congestion, angry cries from achy bones. Poor thing just wants to feel better.
I laid with her across my lap between the hours of one and four am. Wrapping my arms around her waist and neck, snuggling her in the curve of my elbow listening to the rattle of air pass in and out of her body. A pool of warm sweat beads collected on the bed sheets and onto my shirt. Her hair matted from the sticky heat radiating from her forehead. She looked so small compared to me.
I moved us closer to the humidifier, letting the cool air cover her cheeks as I sat up against the wall of my bedroom in the complete dark. My phone sat across the room from me plugged into the wall. I couldn't reach the light on my nightstand and I didn't want to risk waking her from the slumber she finally had found. She shifted slightly and I bounced her back to sleep quickly singing her soft lullabies, hugging her tightly while glancing at the glow of the alarm clock counting the minutes until dawn.
While the rest of the house was quiet I sat alone with my girl. My mind wandered deeper, but I redirected myself off that path. My energy couldn't be spent on THOSE thoughts. I have to use all of myself that I can to make my darling angel better.
I can deal with those feelings later. The wondering if I'll ever be a good enough mother. Wondering if I'm doing all of this wrong. Wondering if I'm hurting my kids by having this career. And MY. GOSH. the guilt. Trying to have both a successful work life and balance the perfect family life. The voice that tells me I'm failing. Trying to keep the peace. Oh, the guilt.
But that's for later. When baby girl is better.
Mommy can get better.
