Ironically, I wrote this before the real drama of yesterday occurred, but am just now getting a chance to post it. More later…
Kids never get sick at convenient times. It’s a rule, right? Somewhere next to ‘They will only repeat inappropriate words when we’re having lunch with the pastor”… or something like that.
We are getting older, I think, because our recovery time from this last trip kinda, well, sucks. There is no catching up on sleep or messages or various household things, not to mention, you know, WORK! I spent Monday doing laundry, answering a few emails, trying to get the kids back in some sort of routine, and putting a few groceries in the house. I made dinner and then practically ran to Jen’s house for our regular Monday night date, watching Dancing with the Stars and eating food appalling high in fat. I was there too late, got to sleep too late, and Miranda woke up at 2:30 am throwing up.
Daddy cleaned that one, bless him, but when I woke her up at 8:30 (in hopes of making it to music class since we paid an appallingly large fee for both kids to take it and already missed last week…), she started again. She projectile-vomited everything I could get in her today, which wasn’t much. Meanwhile, I had a raging headache and the regular sitter decided she didn’t want to risk catching cooties (wimp!). I had a deadline for some Branson promotional stuff and am soooo behind on that and answering messages and generally taking care of business. Plus, you know, vomit-events create more laundry, and Kaity The One Year Old still likes some attention and cuddling and, you know, food. So you can pretty much guess how pleasant and productive my day was going.
Still, I have all the adrenilized lessons and emotions from the last two weeks running through my veins. I am believing that my grieving and realization and higher thoughts are not temporary, but that God is teaching and molding me through the suffering I have witnessed. So I took a breath and reminded myself that we have extra sheets and Branson will not collapse upon itself if we don’t have flyers on everyone’s product tables before Easter. I called (well, you know, texted) Josh’s girlfriend, who is on spring break, to see if she could come over for awhile. I made more coffee. I played with Kaykay then put them both down for naps. I updated my Facebook status with positive thoughts.
All that said, by the time Kirsten got here and things were starting to settle down, Miranda was tossing the ounce of water I thought she was going to keep in. Since she was hospitalized last July for a strikingly similar thing, I got her to the doctor. I was prepared for another hospital visit and wishing I takent the time to give us both a shampooing.
Our regular peditrician (whom we LOVE, and with three daughters seeing him, including two through all their well-baby visits, we know pretty well), is off on Tuesdays. I was with an unfamiliar nurse and doctor, and though relieved that there was another option other than blood draw/hospital stay since Miranda is older, I felt a little ‘herded through,’ didn’t quite understand everything (though my common sense filled in most of the blanks), and well, as I was leaving, I found myself having a moment of, brace yourselves, INDIGNATION, over the fact that Miranda had had a fairly traumatic injection but WAS NOT GIVEN A PRIZE!
I am not kidding. The thoughts in my head were something like:
“Well, they couldn’t really give her a sucker. She’s throwing up. But they could have AT LEAST given her a STICKER!”
Ah, yes. Spoiled, middle-class, high maintainance Americans.
Thankfully for spiritual growth, I brought myself back around quickly with several thoughts. I thought of the mom who lost her baby daughter, 6 months younger than Miranda, not even two weeks ago. I thought of the little actor kids in Slumdog Millionaire, and the ‘healthcare’ they likely receive when they are heaving all day long. And that made me then think about kids in my own community who can’t go get a shot to make them feel better, and then, God whispered in my ear…
“She doesn’t need a sticker; she has YOU!”
So there I was, carrying baby #1 to the car, overloaded not only with her but an overstuffed bag, a bottle of overpriced sugar-water, a saturated blanket, and a re-humbled heart.
God did not just give Miranda (& Kaity, & Paige, & Josh) to me… He gave me to them (for now!). And He did it not so I could make sure they have “everything,” but care for them, protect them, and show HIM to them. Sweet babies, I hope I have done that today.