A Year

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my first day as a stay at home mom. I hope to reflect on this more in a later post, since tonight my brain is mush (perhaps that best summarizes my year anyway). Here at home, the three of us started 2014 as any proper family should: with the worst cold we’ve had in years. Alzette started first and quickly recovered, because she’s younger than us and also smarter. She knows what to do when you’re sick: eat breads and milk, nap a lot, and insist on being snuggled at all times by your mommy or daddy. Scott and I on the other hand, are old and stupid. We developed congestion and a cough and then went out and did things like drop the car off for an oil change.

Then we got it bad. I decided to call it “The 12 Days of Sickness.” Ok, so I named it this on Day 5, and tomorrow will be Day 7, but a couple friends had similar colds and took 10-14 days to kick it, and I thought I would relieve any pressure on myself to feel better too soon by setting a goal of 12 days for full recovery.

Seven days can set you back pretty far, and it’s an emotional shock when those 7 days were part of a family vacation. It feels like the same lesson of Parenthood that we’ve been taught over and over during the last year and a half, except Parenthood wasn’t happy with our homework and decided to give us one more kick in the pants to drive it home: just when you think you might be getting the hang of things, maybe even figuring out how to maintain a consistent order and move ahead with your lives, you get set back another week.

Not that I’m actually feeling all that negative about it. Partly because this lesson of acceptance of life’s surprises has been sinking in pretty deeply lately, so this hardly fazes me. And mostly because the greater lesson has always been that as long as we’re all healthy and happy, I’m just grateful to be so fortunate. And even though we’ve got this cold to kick, we’ve truly enjoyed a healthy and happy year. And that’s all that really matters. And that’s all I have the energy to write. The baby’s in bed, and there’s a television and cup of tea calling my name.

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