Exactly one week from the moment I’m writing this (which was two days ago now from when I’m posting it), I grew weary. I grew weary and I grew frustrated. I cried and I yelled at God. No, really. I actually opened my mouth and yelled words. I was so.mad.at.Him for letting me grow weary.
I sit here, right now, exactly one week later with my beautiful seven (& a half, yikes!)-month-old sound asleep in my lap after an evening filled with so many giggles and countless smiles. It almost feels like last week never happened.
But it did. Last week at this very time I was sitting in the rocking chair, unsuccessfully trying to soothe my sick, crying baby as I sobbed, at the moment not realizing it was because I, too, was running a fever and sick. She had been crying for over 30 minutes already, and that’s something that had NEVER happened before. I know, I know, I’m lucky. But with that so-called luck came a brand new, foreign sense of helplessness and hopelessness when this happened. When nothing I did could help her feel better.
After 30 minutes of nonstop crying, I started crying. The tears started slowly running down my cheeks and kept gaining speed until those small trickling tears turned into full-fledged sobs. She was crying, I was crying. I can only imagine our neighbors were then also crying because they probably couldn’t hear their TV!
I prayed. At first in my head, then out loud. With every additional minute of her crying my prayers became more frustrated. It ended with me yelling at God. Yelling at him for not keeping His promise to not let me grow weary. For giving me more than I can handle. For breaking me, when I was trying so hard, for so long, to be unbreakable.
It was Tuesday night and Adelyn had been sick since Saturday. The poor girl was on day three of a high fever, chest cough and a very runny nose. She couldn’t get comfortable anymore, and I’m sure she just wanted her mom to relax and hold her.
But I was sick. I was running a fever (that ended up spiking up to 102.3 by the end of Wednesday), enduring a sore throat that nothing could remedy and had so much draining from my nose that it consumed two full tissue boxes in a 24-hour timespan.
I was weary and I truly felt I had been given more than I could possibly handle.
Ah, that’s the thing about God. He always knows better. Last week was an extremely humbling experience for me. It forced me to look at my husband and say the words “I can’t do this anymore”. It forced me to trust my husband’s ability to wake up with Adelyn throughout the night and be able to calm her down, give her medicine, and so forth. And he did all of that so.perfectly.
Last week forced me to ask for help. It forced me to put down my “I am woman, hear me roar” façade and admit that I can’t do it all on my own.
Wednesday our company President essentially sent me home from work. He actually encouraged me to skip the morning meeting I had been working on with him for the prior couple weeks to get other things done and go home. Husby volunteered to pick up Adelyn when he had a break so I didn’t have to go back outside. And my mom. Oh my lovely, wonderful mom who just got over being sick came over after her extremely long day and took care of my sick, whiney little Adelyn while I sat on the couch.
Friends checked in on me, and one new mom friend of mine who also works full time dropped off homemade chicken and dumpling soup.
I am so blessed. I grew weary. I was pushed beyond what I could bear. But that didn’t mean life ended. It meant I needed to be humbled to ask for and accept help from people who didn’t really have the time to help. Asking for help isn’t easy for me, and it definitely does not come natural. I know how busy I am, so I never want to be the person who adds more to someone else’s busy life. But I am so, so thankful I did because I was able to see just how blessed I really am in life.
From the bottom of my heart I hope you are blessed with just as many amazing people in your life.
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