Pacing

Walking. Back. Forth. Around. Somewhere. Nowhere. Trying to keep awake. Trying to get her to sleep.

She's fighting me for all it's worth. Kicking in the wrap, chewing maniacally on anything near her mouth. Her tongue lolls out like a puppy panting and obsessed with getting a hold on anything, and I'm trying my hardest to keep it from distracting her from sleep. She thrashes to keep her heavy eyelids from sealing shut. Why won't they cooperate? I try to hold her hands down as they are drawn magnetically back to her eyes. I'm trying to keep her from rubbing out the blue, from scratching her face to pieces. She jerks awake and cries out at the injustice every time sleep wins, even if just for a millisecond.

It's been weeks since we last did this dance. My trick bag is empty, and the stakes are higher this time.

Of all the inevitable moments awaiting me in motherhood, this is the one I've dreaded the most. Everyone sick at the same time, everyone falling back on Mom. I made my own chicken soup today. Dave is in bed, having to get up at 3am, and I am wandering through the apartment cloudy headed, simultaneously trying to comfort and outlast Isabelle. My head aches, my throat is scratchy, and Seattle may have to call in the coast guard if my nose doesn't stop running. What hurts most is knowing that Bella feels the same way and I am not able to make it stop, for her or for me. Thankfully, she seems to have inherited my un-fevers, as we are both cold and clammy, clinging together in the wrap to combine our warmth.

The last time I had a cold before Bella, I remember the fear I felt. What am I going to do when I have this child to care for and I can't crawl under a rock and hide until I am well? I still don't know the answer. I'm taking it one nap at a time, one pile of tissues at a time. What will I do tomorrow night if Bella is still not well, and I have work? There's no way I could leave my baby at home with out the ability to comfort nurse, even if she felt only half as bad as I do now.

Right now I just want to climb under the covers with a box of tissues and no obligations on the horizon. Instead, I'll take the memory of those times and snuggle my sniffly self up to my snarfly daughter and hope Dave's coughing won't keep us awake. At least I had the wherewithal to enjoy my last self-indulgent child free head cold.