For all frustrated, overwhelmed moms . .
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| Thu, 02-19-2004 - 8:32am |
Paige
The chair was losing all semblance of comfort, and her head was beginning to pound. She looked in despair at the un-vacuumed carpet. It was covered in crumbs and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. The sink was piled high with dishes she could not put in the dishwasher, and beyond that she could see unfolded laundry spilling onto the floor in front of the dryer. It wouldn't get folded today, either. She sighed.
The culprit sat on her lap with not one shred of gratitude. His face was red, and fat white tears left trails as they rolled down his cheeks. He let out a wail that was sure to summon a social worker and tugged on her shirt.
"Voo!" he insisted. "Want voo!"
"I already gave you voo," she responded tiredly. "You haven't eaten any of it."
She held out the piece of string cheese he had begged for only moments before, and he slapped it away with a scream. It joined the two broken crackers and a piece of bread with one bite out of it already on the floor.
"Well, you can't have anything else until you eat what you've already got," she told him, triggering a new, louder lament.
Poor baby, she thought, but it was more of a reminder to herself than genuine sympathy. She tried to comfort him, but he wasn't having any of it. He just wanted to sit on her lap and cry.
Today was the eighth straight day she had held him screaming in this chair. First, it was an ear infection. Then a stomach bug - which he so graciously shared with the rest of the family. Now, on the day things should have been returning to normal, she looked in his mouth mid-scream to see the first white tip of a two-year-old molar poking through his swollen gum. It just wasn't fair.
As she sat there, a line from an old song popped into her head. "Wasting away again in Margaritaville," she hummed. She could certainly identify with the "wasting away" part! But at least Jimmy Buffet had somewhere exciting to waste away. And the "woman to blame" no doubt was at least an interesting story. It had to be better than this living room, where the walls were closing in and a health inspection would get them condemned.
His screams were beginning to lose some of their velocity. The medicine she had forced down his throat must have started to work. Subtly, she started rocking him back and forth on her knees while she continued to hum. After a few more minutes, he quieted down and began rubbing his eyes. Finally, he dropped his head to her chest and began to breathe evenly.
"Mommy loves you, daddy loves you…" she sang a lullaby she made up. "It's time to go night-night."
"Bed," he said softly.
She gathered him up in his blanket and carried him to his room. Standing beside the crib, she held him for just a moment before kissing the top of his head and laying him gently down. Poor thing, she thought again as she raised the side rail.
He looked up at her. "Tak-ooo," he whispered, then rolled over and went to sleep.
She stood there in stunned silence, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her son was so small and pitiful, and no one could do for him what she had done over the past week. "You're welcome."
Another phrase popped into her head. "If you have done it unto the least of these…" She decided Jimmy Buffet could keep Margaritaville. She had more important things to do.
| Thu, 02-19-2004 - 8:46am |
