He pulled up in his crib last night.
Sure, it was 3am, and I was about to nurse him yet again, just a bit at a time, hoping he would keep it down. But seeing him standing there, fussing, holding onto the crib rails...well, that was a moment for rejoicing.
Baby Nekoda has been sick. Really sick. To put it lightly.
We've been in & out of two different hospitals in the past week, have seen a total of four docs, and little Nekoda is sporting five purple-blue-sunset bruises on hands, feet, arms, from IVs. He had lost almost 2 pounds during three weeks of fighting the puke-&-poop-monsters - which is a whole heckuva lot for an already smallish 10 month old. He was down to 15 & 1/2 pounds, skinny-scrawny, listless, lethargic, miserable.
But -
He. Is. Better.
HAAAAALELUJAH! Hallelujah Hallelujah!
(did you hear the Hallelujah Chorus???)
Goodbye, 4am hot-water-&-bleach laundry loads of pukey crib sheets, sleepers, a blankets!
So long, toxic-blow-out diapers!
Adios, cranky & exhausted, puked-on-woman that I've been, tenderly cradling the baby, while snipping at everyone else in the house!
Farewell, catch-the-vomit-in-my-hands trick!
(The big kids think that trick is repulsively disgusting, but every mommy with at least half a brain and a moderately strong stomach knows its way easier to catch the vomit than it is to clean it out of the carpet. or couch. or car. or dry-clean-only, holiday-red, miraculously-perfectly-fitted, even with my still-nursing full-figure, favorite button-front jacket. Okay, well, I wasn't able to catch it all with that one, so it's in the laundry. I'll let ya know how it fares after a cold water gentle cycle.)
It's been a hard few weeks. Really, really hard. I've been scared for the little buddy, and upset, and heartbroken...and sometimes just downright tired. Sometimes...when I'm up for the fourth time of the night...my compassion runneth out. My heart wants to hold him close, all whiney & vomit-smelling. But my temptation? My honest-to-goodness, don't-say-it-outloud temptation...really?...at 4am I just wanna toss him out the back window. So I can just get some stinkin' sleep.
Anyway, thank God, he's getting better.
I'm sure we're still in for a long recovery, and a few more rough nights, but we're eager to see this:
turn back into this:
Which brings me to pondering silent nights...
"Silent night; Holy night.
All is calm, all is bright.
Round yon virgin, mother and child..."
I'm not so sure about that carol. I mean, think about it from Mary's perspective:
She is in hard labor. Hard. Labor. Even from the comfort of my own home, with a midwife standing by, a jetted tub to labor in, friends & family cheering me own...having a baby hurts. Really, really, REALLY hurts. It is not calm and it sure doesn't feel bright.
And that "round yon virgin" part...is that saying she's yonder there, 'round about here somewhere? Or that she is round, as in, spherically-shaped? 'Cause I'm thinking any pending-birth, first-time mommy feels not-so-much round, as bulbous, elephantitish, over-inflated blimp about to burst.
I'll concede the "Holy" part. Cause we are talking about the birth of baby Jesus. And even thru the pain, childbirth does feel Holy. Getting to be a part of God's miracle of life. Definitely one of the most miraculous parts of being a woman. Holy, yes.
But silent? Not so much. Well, not without the assistance of drugs or epidurals or duct-tape over the mouth. Even the most self-controlled woman in the world is gonna have some grunting, yelling, or downright screaming during childbirth. 'Cause it hurts! Did I say that already? It really, really hurts!
So this is what I'm thinking.
Even the most staggeringly awesome event in history was rife with human suffering. God's perfect gift to us, the Christ-child, came into this world amidst agonizing birthpains. There is every reason to believe Emmanuel cried as He entered this fallen world, that He fussed to be fed, whimpered when He needed changing, and even probably suffered thru a tummy-virus once or twice before the age of two.
I bet Mary discovered the wisdom of catching vomit in her hands. I bet she lost alotta sleep in those first couple of years. I bet Mary was tempted to pretend she couldn't hear the baby fussing...in hopes that Joe would get up. I bet Mary was tempted to be snippy with everyone in her path, during that sleep-deprived week of puke-fest. Just like you and me.
No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it. -- 1Cor 10:13
I bet Mary was praying for some Silent Nights.
