Tuesday, November 16, 2010

throwing up

3 years old is hard, I'm not going to lie.  It's tough and lately most days I am tired. 

Tonight I found myself thinking about it from her perspective.  3 years old is tough.  Poor girl. 

Even though I hear "I am so upset with you" more than I'd like, I also hear "Can you hold you me?" much more frequently these days.  I feel the depth of love she needs as she figures out life. I feel the weight of responsibility to teach...to teach so much, but to show even more.  I want to show her love and grace more than anything.

Last night she came in our room at 1:30am.  She said she was sick and thought she'd throw up.  She's been sick a couple of times in this, her third year of life, so I trust her judgment.

I walked to her room with her.  Put a wastebasket right by her bed and eventually in her bed.

I was tired.  So tired.  I thought about the work that I needed to get done the next day.  I thought about how I would have to get up with Iris earlier than I'd like.  I thought about what a tough day it had already been and how I didn't want to be up just 2 hours after I'd fallen asleep for the night. 

And yet.  She felt sick.  As she laid in bed, with me perched beside her, she said that it "wasn't coming" and that we had to "wait for it". 

She held my hand and asked if I'd wait with her, for her throw up to come. 

I rubbed her back and held her hair "just in case".  I thought of a babysitter I had once.  I'd gotten sick while at her house.  I found out later that she'd missed hanging out with her friends because I was sick and she had to stay back with me.  It's nice to have someone beside you. 

It took an hour, but it came.  She felt better.  She feel asleep and I slept on the bed next to her's.  As tired as I was last night I had been happy to be sitting there with her, holding her hand. 

This morning is when she said that she was so upset with me.  I probably made her dress warm or something.  I thought of all the grief that Clint and I must have caused our moms without even knowing it and how they loved us anyway.   

Sorry mom. 

Thanks for holding my hair back when I was too little to remember.

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