Why are some days so…darned…hard?
I am the first to acknowledge that I probably should not be entitled to much, if any, self-pity. When I look through the wide-angle, “big picture” lens, our life is really a very good one.
It’s that close-up, tight angle lens that threatens to get the best of me sometimes. This time, it’s a pile of smaller “stuff” that’s leaving me a little more drained than I would like to be.
Daisy has a bad cough. The doctor calls it croup. Meds aren’t doing much at this point. I’ve spent three nights sleeping next to a coughing, crying little one, worrying, then feeling guilty about fretting so much when many of the kids I’ve worked with at Riley Hospital have faced – or are now facing – far bigger battles.
Maybe the sleepless nights are what’s making the other little stuff seem even harder than usual: homework, sibling squabbles, piano practice, dinner-and-cleanup, occasional ill-timed meltdowns, bathing, lunch-packing…and always a nice surprise like juice spilled on the carpet.
Last night, over a pile of dishes and after a battle with one of the kids over something ridiculous, I sighed to Ian, “Why are some days so hard?”
I am hugely grateful for my family, and for a job that allows me so much more time with them.
Still, there will always be hard days..when all I can do is press a small hand to my face, breathe, and remember why this is all worth it.
