Last night, motherhood moments I was feeling so sorry for my boys. I know I have been so cranky with them for the last three days and I was sure my eight years old must hate me. I have been in so much pain. So. Much. Pain. And I have zero tolerance for pain. Especially face pain. Or at least I had chalked it off to my having no tolerance for pain. Later, after I put the boys to bed, I drove myself to the hospital hoping to get something that would help with the pain. I was hungry, tired and fed up.
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No wonder I have been cranky. I have six abscesses! SIX! I was running a fever and dehydrated when I got there as well. The doctor asked how long I was hurting and I told him three days and he said I waited far too long to come in and be seen. He gave me some shot in my throat that was supposed to numb my face. It gave me a nice fluffy feeling in my brain (and face) for five minutes, but then the pain was back.
He scripted me Vicodin, Motrin 800 and Clindamycin and gave me the address for my local 24-hour pharmacy.
So I drove to the pharmacy, got the scripts, came home, took a bunch of pills and tried to sleep. Of course, my pain would not go away, so I didn’t actually sleep. Instead, my superhero of a husband listened to me whine all night and pretty much stayed up all night with me. How sweet.
For a few weeks now, I have been feeling pretty neglected by my whole family. Last night, I had one of those motherhood moments. The ones that make you feel all mushy and warm inside. The feeling is still with me this morning and I just have to share.
I was whining, in the midst of my regression to infancy due to pain, to my husband about how Damian must hate me because I have been such a crabby mom lately. He pointed out that Damian had gotten up an hour after I left crying because he missed me and he was worried. This morning, my husband had planned on taking Damian to school, but he got called into work.
When I was trying to gingerly prepare him for school and find him a ride so I didn’t have to drive all dopey on Vicodin, he asked me what the doctor did and I was telling him. In a moment of sheer innocence, he looked at me with big brown eyes on the verge of spilling over and said: “Dad said that you are sick because we never give you a break.” He was clearly remorseful and concerned.
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Now I know, that probably wasn’t the best thing to tell our son. So I first told him that I was not sick because of him or his brother, but that it would be easier to get better if everyone helped out for a few days. Then I gave him a hug and helped him finish getting ready.
After he left, I took a motherhood moment to indulge in the power of this moment. Knowing that my family truly cares, they just get too busy or too wrapped in their own stuff to show it sometimes. Knowing that a simple trip to the ER for a toothache had my whole family pulling together and acting the way I always complain they don’t. Knowing that I have made an impression on my children (and my husband) as to what a family is.
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This is my inspiration. My inspiration to write, to love, to keep trying. These are the moments that make me want to write a book about how wonderful my family is. Anything can inspire me to write. Life is beautiful and there is inspiration everywhere, but motherhood moments like these inspire me to write from the heart.