When I woke up this morning, I forgot I was sick.
I rolled slowly out of bed and caught up with my little ones on the stairs.
I made them oatmeal, raspberries, and cheerios, being careful to pour their “mulk” into square glasses as requested (daily).
We ate cheerily and talked about the day. We loaded the dishwasher and went upstairs to get dressed. Halfway up the stairs, I heard myself panting, felt myself slow down, and then stopped, almost too tired to haul myself all the way up. The kids hopped in the shower, but I?
I passed the kids off to C and went back to bed, tired beyond all reasoning, and lay there, so tired, not wanting to move.
Hours later, I got up again, this time walking carefully to my office in the room next door. I wrote for an hour, making nice progress on the revisions for Chapter 6, and then allowed myself to be distracted by the children’s laughter as they told me all about their adventures and carried me away with their dreams.
We took a new puzzle to the big bed and busied ourselves with putting it together, just us. Quiet. Happy. Enjoying each other on these terms.
And it was almost as if I had chosen this quiet life, cuddled with my children, reading story after story, and talking about the day as we did puzzles together.
For a moment, again, I almost forgot I was sick.