My vision blurs. At first I think it’s my contacts being funky, but then I recognize the tell-tale fuzz of an impending migraine.
Makes sense considering I only got 3 hours sleep the night before.
The bummer about my migraines is that they announce their arrival before the pain comes. So I just sit there, in anticipation of the throbbing ache that will soon fill my head.
The kids are supposed to be cleaning their rooms, but they’re not. Instead Eli’s bouncing a ball against the bedroom wall (once again I’m so thankful that there’s no one on the other side) and Cora’s tap dancing on the trunk in her room. Both activities not enjoyable during a migraine, but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it.
Silas has had a cold for over a week now and I’m trying not to “new-mommy freak out.” I’m not a new mommy, this is old hat by now. But I still hate it when they get sick when they’re so little. His little cry sounds so pitiful and he has such a hard time eating. He’s been crying for two days straight, and the pitifulness is wearing off. My head seems to throb along to the intensity of his cry, like those dancing flowers that used to gyrate to the music.
The blinds are closed tight against the bright Southern California sun. The light hurts my brain and so it’s dark as night in our home. I sit in my oversized recliner, cuddling a sleeping baby who will only allow his body to relax if he’s being held.
Dishes with crumbs from last night’s dinner and this morning’s cereal sit waiting for me at the sink. I can look down the hall from my chair and see Mt. Laundry threatening to erupt out of my room. They will both have to wait.
I’m cutting myself some slack. There’s only so much I can do. Today is just one of those days when I’m only a mom. Not a housekeeper. Not a personal chef. Not an event coordinator.
I’m the only one that can provide the comfort he needs. My body only has energy to rock him gently if he whimpers. Everything else gets pushed aside.