It's July. Thank God. I think I'm going to find it hard to look back on this last month with any sort of fondness at all. When there's a two year old in the house who can't seem to sleep, eat, or be happy, time stands still during the day, and runs out too quickly in the night. You calculate when the last dose of Tylenol was, and see if she'll be able to handle a bit more than usual cough medication, to get her a much needed long sleep. You wake up three times a night to a sobbing, weak voice calling for you to hold her, and the need to tend to your self, your sleep, your bladder, your illness, ceases. You go to work every day, riddled with guilt, pumped full of daytime medication, hoping you can make it through with enough energy for the go-round that awaits you at home. You pray to just be able to give her water without it coming back up, leaving her for even a moment becomes physically and emotionally impossible. You pick her tired limp body up and carry her to the bathroom, and sit in front of the toilet bowl, waiting for her body to lunge. Waiting for her pleading cries to make it stop. Waiting for your heart to break for her all over again.
Thank you July, for showing up right when you did. We promise to try and enjoy the rest of the summer as much as we can. We'll play in the water table, and pick vegetables from our garden when the sun goes down. We'll take early morning walks before it gets too hot on the weekends, and go look at pretty shiny classic cars on Saturdays, because for her, the cartoon ones are nothing compared to the real deal. We'll play in the sprinklers and eat ice cream and popsicles and watch Daddy barbecue hamburgers and hot dogs for dinner. And we'll sleep. We'll put Sleeping Beauty to shame.
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