I am writing from my sick bed.
Two days ago my daughter stayed home from school after a rough night with a stomach bug. We lounged, watched Netflix, and slept. All day. Besides her not feeling good, it was glorious. A break in the routine. Extra snuggles from my ever-growing, ever-changing girl.
Now I'm sick. My vulnerable position made her feel vulnerable, so she called her dad and he came to take her home for the night. It's probably for the best, but I miss her. And I feel alone.
I have texted my neediness to a few friends, and they have responded with kind words and well wishes for a quick recovery. I think of the nameless people who have no one to text at times like this. And I am grateful.
My stomach bug comes at a bad time. When does getting sick ever fit into the schedule? We've had to cancel our participation in tomorrow's Santa Dash 5K. We've agreed that when I feel better, we'll put on our race wear and run our own 5K. Silver linings. I'm teaching my daughter how to make the best of what comes our way and to think nimbly and with flexibility.
I'm sad our weekend has taken this turn, but I am remembering that it really isn't so bad. This is manageable. I've reached out to a friend who will take my daughter shopping for her $5 gift for a girl scout party tomorrow night. I've reached out to others asking for her to carpool with someone to the party. I'm learning the importance of reaching out and asking for help. People want to help! They can't help if we don't ask.
I'm fading fast and praying that this wave of sickness will be brief and I'll be back to my self again soon. I have written for something like 346 days straight without missing a day. I'm writing through the nausea. I'm going to skip yoga and do it another day.
Hoping for a quick recovery and that you don't get it.