Well, little man, I failed on my resolution to blip for the whole month of January because I was run over by the flu. Last Tuesday I took you to the doctor because, though you were getting better, you still seemed fussy, not quite yourself. I thought maybe you had an ear infection. You had an ear infection. And I could feel something coming to get me too. Your car seat felt 50 time heavier. I shook a little extra from the cold. By 7pm my fever was 102.5. From Wednesday through Friday, I only made it out of the bed to pee or to nurse you. And on the few occasions I did venture into the bathroom, the gorgeous sight that awaited me in the mirror was not only the stringy, oily hair, hollowed eye sockets, and wan skin of an ill person but also pink eye. In both of my eyes.
But this isn't a post about how much it sucks to be sick. This is a post about what I want for you when you feel really sad or really sick. Because the sickness happened. But here is what else happened last week:
After I wrote my last fairly pathetic post about January depression, a lot of friends wrote comments about the post on Facebook (you'll now have to go find out what Facebook is). And their words made me feel like I wasn't alone. Then that night a friend knocked on the door out of the blue and brought chocolate cake and wine and tonic water and a hyacinth plant and a hug. Another friend sent a hilarious e-mail about how she wasn't doing too much better and had in fact just poured chocolate syrup directly into a jar of peanut butter. After I got sick another friend who's a nurse practitioner called in a prescription for eye drops for me and our wonderful neighbor friend brought over potato leek soup and bread and butter for dinner. Gak came to take care of you one afternoon and in the three hours she was here she also managed to do laundry, water the pants, vacuum the rugs, and make another dinner for us. When we still needed more care for you (since the nanny cancelled), he called a retired friend from church and asked and do you know what she said? She said, "I am so happy you called." No long pause during which she weighed helping to care for a baby against the chances she herself might get sick--she made us feel like we were doing her a favor or something (and I am continuing to pray that she is not sick right now). And then there was your father, who spent the last week of J-term essentially being a single parent. Feeding you both breakfast, putting you both to bed, shoveling the 7 inches of snow we apparently received (I haven't yet been outside to confirm this), bringing me water and toast, making trips to Walgreens, and on and on.
And I know there are a lot of others out there who would have helped too. Who would have been glad to. So this is a post about community. It's something I can't really wish for you since it's something you'll have to believe in enough to make happen. So, sweet boy, even if you are an introverted boy, show up for people. Reach out to them. Learn the names of your neighbors. Go to ECFE classes. Join a church even if you're not so into God at the moment. When your friends give a reading or play a show or defend their dissertation or run for elected office or give presentations--show up. Cheer loudly. Have some friends who are at least 20 years older than you. Ask them for advice. Read the local newspaper. Call your sister. Send her a silly e-card for no reason. Bring your excess zucchinis to the new person on the block. Remember to say thank you.
I don't do or haven't done well enough many of the things I just mentioned. I've especially not been good enough at saying thank you lately. But this week brought me to my knees. Literally first. Then figuratively.
This week marked the first real moment, too, where my own care of you could not be sufficient. You turned six months old on January 31st. And you should know that you are being held, diapered, lifted, supported, rocked, tickled, bounced, and buoyed by many, many hands. And I am so grateful.
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