April 18, 2022
I woke up at 5:30 to the nonstop, restless wiggles of my kid, in the bed next to me.
“Get up, go upstairs. I can’t sleep with all your wiggling,” I say.
“I can’t. My tummy hurts,” she whimpers.
Immediately, I feel like an asshole as I remember that she said her tummy hurt when she went to bed the night before.
“Do you think you might throw up?” I ask her.
“No. I just need it to be quiet in here.”
I closed my eyes and try to fall back asleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how the day ahead would unfold. I just had Friday off, so I didn’t want to take another day off. I had a couple meetings on my calendar that I didn’t want to reschedule. Plus, I had to catch up on everything I missed while I was out.
She’ll be sleeping on the couch most of the day, anyways, I think to myself.
And then she threw up and so did the dog.
Tonight, I am grateful for a day that didn’t go as planned:
My kid stayed home sick. I expected her to be couch-bound for the day and dozing in and out of sleep. Instead, she threw up once, ate breakfast and suddenly regained all her energy and enthusiasm. She rotated between watching tv, playing on the iPad, playing with her dollhouse, building forts, painting, FaceTiming Nana and Pops and watching more tv. It wasn’t my preferred way for my kid to spend the day, but I’m proud of her. She found ways to entertain herself throughout the day. She took breaks from watching tv. She left me to work, mostly uninterrupted, for the majority of the day. Today was a good reminder that “not what I expected” doesn’t have to be a bad thing. The next time she has to stay home, unexpectedly, I have more confidence that the day doesn’t have to turn into a shitshow.
I wasn’t able to exercise much because of work and parenting and taking care of a sick dog, but I ate pretty well. Which is to say I did not eat my stress and drown myself in sugar and snacks (my usual MO on a tough day). Instead, I listened to my body. I ate only a piece of sourdough toast and a banana in the morning because I felt queasy being cooped up with my two barfing babies. By lunch, I was feeling pretty good and had some vegetables and quinoa and an egg, along with plenty of water. I remembered that eating good makes me feel good and made my choices accordingly.
My husband came home and took charge of dinner. He didn’t ask me what I wanted or what he should make, he just did it. He found a recipe. He got out the InstaPot. He cut the chicken and the vegetables and made chicken and rice soup, one of my favorites. While he cooked, he encouraged me to take the dog for a walk. I felt lazy and didn’t want to get dressed. I kept my pjs on. I put on slide-on sneakers. I grabbed a vest to stash my phone (does a walk even matter if there is no proof of how many steps I take?!), I popped my earbuds in and I walked out the door before I had time to talk myself out of it. Thirty eight minutes later, I walked back in the door and dinner was ready.
I just drank a hot cup of hot cocoa. My husband fell asleep putting my kid to bed. It’s just past 8pm and I have an hour - and the house - to myself for the rest of the night. Bridgerton awaits.
Monday is over. The most dreaded day of the week. It feels like smooth-sailing from here.
Grateful for today, open-minded for tomorrow.
