*I know I said I would post a pregnancy photo yesterday, and I WILL I promise, but first I have to get motivated enough to take a shower, change out of my sweat pants, and possibly brush my teeth. And then I have to convince Jeremy to photograph me in all of my chubby glory. So, perhaps tonight will be the night.
As I mentioned in my previous post, Elsbeth has been very sick. In fact, I cannot remember a time when she was this sick. I have been home from work since Thursday, and one (or at least me) would tend to think that I would have gotten much accomplished in that time. But that is not the case.
The Dilettante has had her first case of experiencing the magic medicine and its convalescent powers that only Mommies posses. I can give this child Tylenol, chicken soup, soothing Vick's and a hundred humidifiers, but none of these things would compare to the comfort and respite she finds by simply being close to me. So, while my plans of having a sparkling house have been put on the back burner, I have been taught a valuable lesson on the powers of nurture versus nature. And for that I am very grateful. Because while I am usually a very judicial and objective person, my personality can tend to be cold and insensitive to the needs of others.
This is not something that I do on purpose, it's just my makeup. This experience with Ellie has taught me to slow down, pump the brakes, and tune in to the emotional needs of those in my care. It is a something I will have to continue working on, especially with Jeremy, who is much easier to brush off than a pitifully sick toddler crying for Mommy, even though he does have the same soulful eyes as his daughter.
For the past several nights we have allowed Ellie to go to sleep in our bed because she's been so sick. This has been a new and unpleasant experience for me. It's like trying to sleep with a two foot tall ninja. Silent, but able to deliver deadly kicks to the gut with skillful precision. I was about to kick her out last night when I felt her tiny hand reach for mine and slip itself into the palm of my own. She rested it there and was then still.
As I lay there holding her hand; relishing the softness of her skin, I told myself: remember this moment. Remember the moment when your daughters hand fit easily into the palm of your own. And remember when it's skin was unblemished by time and the wear of life. I looked at the back of my own hand there in my bed, and saw the wrinkles beginning to form on my knuckles, the blue blood mapping its way under my skin, and I remembered looking at my own Mothers hands as a child and all that they meant to me.
They possessed the tickle monster, who could spring to life and into attack tickle without a moments notice. They became my silent entertainers when I became restless in church as my Mother would use two fingers to ice skate across the back of my hand or pretend to be jumping on a trampoline. They were so many things to me, but they all translated into one word: love.
As I looked back down onto my own hands holding those of my child, I said to myself, I am the mother now and this is my child. I will use my hands as one of many tools to express and pass down the love that was given to me by my own Mother and so many others. Because while banks may fail, one sure safe investment is love. Love into the hearts and souls of people.
And that Dear Readers, is your dose of sap for the day. Please enjoy and pass along. The thing you're really waiting for, chubby pregnant booty shots, will be along shortly.