I'm one of those kinds of people, who, for whatever reason, wakes up sunny-side and excited for the day ahead. I get little shivers of excitement over simple things, like the smell of wet dirt in the spring, pumpkins being carved in the fall, hayrides over crunchy leaves, or little children's chubby legs running as fast as they can down a hill.
But sometimes the beast emerges. Perhaps it is the day after day of nausea that wears me down. Perhaps it is expecting a new little one. It could be the smell of chicken noodle soup left too long on the stove, or the cup of water that spills on the carpet. It could be my sinful nature reminding me that I, too, am fragile. Thomas à Kempis once said, "Consider all men fragile, but consider none more fragile than yourself!"
For whatever fragile reason or purpose, by eight o'clock at night all my faculties begin to shut down. I've been up for another twelve hours of nausea...and have fought the good fight. I'm ready to crash into bed and wash away the toil with sleep.
Yet it seems the last mile of the day is hardest of all. There is always one last bout of heaving, a quick snack to get down to settle it. Then my one-year-old needs to be fed, again. Don't ever believe what they say that her stomach is as small as her little fist. No, no. It is at least big enough for a whole banana, a handful of cheerios and half a loaf of Grandma's zucchini bread.
Last night was no exception. I fed her, then whisked her to the bathroom. My husband, Steve, began the nightly ritual of carefully washing and drying her helmet she wears night and day to help a flat spot on her head. I took her out of her clothes and put her into a baby bath. How she liked that! She succeeded in getting my socks and pants pretty wet with her splashing!
Next the diaper and pajamas went on. I ate some oatmeal. Steve brought in Charity's pink fuzzy blanket and we wrapped her up tight. Steve shut out the lights and I sang, "Night-Night time, Charity. Time for Night-Night." I nursed her to sleep. All was going well, but I was in my wet socks and wet pants.
I put on clean dry clothes and clean, dry socks, brushed my teeth and took my contacts out. Things were looking good. I had eaten not long before. Maybe I could crash to sleep before needing to eat yet another snack or heave yet again.
The baby bathtub leaned against me as I walked past the shower. That annoyed me. Then I stepped with my dry sock into a puddle from Charity's bath. That annoyed me. Then the towel rack and all the towels fell over. That really annoyed me.
I walked into the bedroom and changed my sock like an angry person. Steve asked me a question and I replied angrily that I was angry and that my sock was wet and that the towel rack had fallen over. I stomped back into the bathroom to wash my hands. I marched back into the bedroom, a little calmer now.
Hmm. How to reconcile. I was sorry. I wasn't quite as angry now. I was shot. I mumbled something about being sorry and explaining why I was losing it. I rolled to my side of the bed and pulled the covers over.
I felt terrible. Steve had a few choices. He could respond, "That's okay," roll over, and go to sleep. He could mumble something assuring but give me a silence that said he was hurt. Whatever he would do, I knew one thing he would not do. He would not say anything angry. Steve doesn't get angry. He is kind. He has no hatchets to bury because he never has a hatchet. If the milk spills he will quietly clean it up. He is one of the strongest men I know.
I was sorry I was being so petty.
"Wendy, I'm so grateful for you," he said. "You are so wonderful. You're doing so great." Now that was forgiveness, but I hadn't calculated that into my list of how to get us back on track.
"Oh Steve, I'm falling apart," I said. "I'm really sorry." And, somehow, everything was mended. "Steve, I've got to figure out how to not unravel when nighttime rolls around."
"We'll talk about it in the morning," he said.
Will do. Morning is here. New strength awaits. We'll get through these days. I'm so thankful for the Lord. And....I'm so thankful for a good friend who stands by me when my eggs go over-easy instead of sunny-side up.
