Dear Family
Dear Family,
You get me. You really, really get me. After four days of confining myself to my room, of shivering under the covers and taking enough ibuprofen to keep my fever low enough so I could lie still without wave after wave of body aches, you gave me something that only those closest to me would understand.
Only three precious someones who had gestated in my womb for nine months and nursed at my bosom for an entire 365 days afterwards would know the inner workings of my heart. Only someone who said I Do could possibly have guessed at what I would have wanted the most on my first morning feeling almost human again.
When I came downstairs at 6:15AM to take the first two darlings to the bus, my eyes filled with tears that slipped quietly through the four-day-old grime on my un-feverish cheeks. And when I walked to the front door to retrieve my shoes, gently testing the strength of my legs after so many days of non-use, my hand flew to my chest and I gasped at the offering you had left me.
Is every mother and wife this lucky, this special, this loved?
Because what you so lovingly understand is that when a mother is sick all she thinks about are the tasks she is unable to do, all the errands and jobs that won't get done. And her biggest concern is someone else doing those jobs for her. In fact, a mother's most basic fear in life is for her position in the family to become redundant.
But you sweet, thoughtful, considerate offspring of mine and you, my handsome, sexy husband, you gave me the assurance that my job will never be taken, never be redundant and only, ever be performed by me.
I nearly fell to my knees so grateful was I to be reassured in this most loving and thoughtful of gestures. I can never be replaced. No. Matter. What.
So after I got the last darling off to school this morning and before I showered for the first time in four days, but after I took that morning's dose of ibuprofen, I cleaned the kitchen. With a full heart I wiped crumbs from the counter that I think may have been there since sometime last week and gleefully attacked the dishes stacked chest high. Then I danced to the sodden pile of snow pants, coats, mittens, ski helmets and goggles left in the middle of the foyer like a Mother's Day Hallmark card and smiled gently, my heart full.
I love you, too, dear family.
With much gratitude,
Me
You get me. You really, really get me. After four days of confining myself to my room, of shivering under the covers and taking enough ibuprofen to keep my fever low enough so I could lie still without wave after wave of body aches, you gave me something that only those closest to me would understand.
Only three precious someones who had gestated in my womb for nine months and nursed at my bosom for an entire 365 days afterwards would know the inner workings of my heart. Only someone who said I Do could possibly have guessed at what I would have wanted the most on my first morning feeling almost human again.When I came downstairs at 6:15AM to take the first two darlings to the bus, my eyes filled with tears that slipped quietly through the four-day-old grime on my un-feverish cheeks. And when I walked to the front door to retrieve my shoes, gently testing the strength of my legs after so many days of non-use, my hand flew to my chest and I gasped at the offering you had left me.
Is every mother and wife this lucky, this special, this loved?
Because what you so lovingly understand is that when a mother is sick all she thinks about are the tasks she is unable to do, all the errands and jobs that won't get done. And her biggest concern is someone else doing those jobs for her. In fact, a mother's most basic fear in life is for her position in the family to become redundant.
But you sweet, thoughtful, considerate offspring of mine and you, my handsome, sexy husband, you gave me the assurance that my job will never be taken, never be redundant and only, ever be performed by me.
I nearly fell to my knees so grateful was I to be reassured in this most loving and thoughtful of gestures. I can never be replaced. No. Matter. What.
So after I got the last darling off to school this morning and before I showered for the first time in four days, but after I took that morning's dose of ibuprofen, I cleaned the kitchen. With a full heart I wiped crumbs from the counter that I think may have been there since sometime last week and gleefully attacked the dishes stacked chest high. Then I danced to the sodden pile of snow pants, coats, mittens, ski helmets and goggles left in the middle of the foyer like a Mother's Day Hallmark card and smiled gently, my heart full.
I love you, too, dear family.
With much gratitude,
Me
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