I'm exhausted.
Three long days of relentless illness -- not mine, but first the baby's, then the big kid's, then my husband's. A stomach virus, a particularly nasty one. Lots of laundry, lots of scrubbing carpets, toilets, furniture. Hours of soothing those I love the most while they suffer and praying I'll stay well enough to care for them. Washing my hands so often and so hard they crack from the abuse.
Add to it all the baby's molars coming in and you have an idea of the lack of sleep I've faced.
And as I sit in the dark silence at nearly midnight trying and failing to unwind, I once again hear from upstairs the baby's insistent cries.
Third time tonight.
I want to run.
For a moment, I freeze. I can see myself, keys in hand, running out the door. Down the creaky porch steps into the cool night air. I can breathe there. I can hear the sounds of the car -- my husband's fast one, not my practical one -- the decisive thud of the car door, the sound of the engine starting up as I turn the key, the crunch of gravel under the tires as I make my escape.
Where will I go? The destination doesn't matter. Somewhere with a hot shower to wash away the stink of illness. Really good room service. A comfortable bed. A maid. Somewhere where I will be taken care of, rather than the caretaker.
I'm jarred out of my reverie by the memory of Saint Peter. He ran. After all his big talk, all his promises, he ran from the Cross. And in this moment I want to follow him.
But unlike Peter, I have the rest of the story. And therefore, no excuses.
This nudge from the Holy Spirit is enough. One foot in front of the other, I walk to the kitchen, aware of my mission. I prepare the dose of baby ibuprofen. I pour some milk. I climb the stairs and beg for the grace to embrace my cross (for the third time tonight). And then I do -- all 25 pounds of him.
To my great relief, he takes the medicine willingly and nestles against me in the rocking chair as he drinks his milk. As I rock him back to sleep, I talk to God, asking forgiveness for my selfishness and healing for my family. I beg the Blessed Mother's intercession. And I lift my sweet baby into his crib so we can start the night again.
