It’s probably the reason she slept a whole of 3 hours in a late afternoon nap the other day. We couldn’t wake her up, for about an hour, despite two loud TVs, rotating owls singing musical tunes above her portacot, all the lights on, and my incessant calls to her.
She must have needed it.
I was apprehensive coming home from work today. She had been put down for a nap, and I was on guard, wondering if the dry throat and cough I had woken up with this morning would also present itself in her.
She slept solidly for 2 hours. She woke happily. But when she called out to me, I heard the rasp. And then there were a few coughs.
She was clearly showing signs of the cold. The dreaded freaking Winter cold. The hardest month for me is always July, mid-Winter, and on this the first day of that miserable month, I woke up sick. With Baby girl sounding like she’s shelving a frog somewhere in the depths of her throat.
And yet, as the night wore on, it was ME getting weaker and crankier, baby girl happily dancing, playing and even eating all of her dinner. We wrestled a bit, and she proceeded to jump off her Dad’s desk and onto his lap (a really BAD habit). She is a picture of joy.
This girl has been a trooper before she was even born. Developing inside of me, my repetitive mantra to her was that she was protected. She was in my ‘cocoon.’ At a time of sickness and loss and death and deep turmoil and depression, she withstood all of that, and came into the world, a happy baby.
I am so grateful to my trooper. That was my nickname for her in my womb; that is my nickname for her now, and forever more. I see her prancing around, screaming with her broken voice at Daddy to wake up from the couch. She is not phased that her voice is like that. She could care less.
She goes on.
When I am whinging that I’m weak, and tired, and I have to do everything, I look at that girl and think ‘wow. What an inspiration.’