We're finally emerging from a historic bout of family illness. After seeing both girls through a stomach bug on the same night, Dave and I packed our bags the night before Christmas Eve to get on a plane the following morning. That night, he and I got the bug and were both up all night vomiting. After about 2 hours of sleep Penny woke us up on Christmas Eve morning, we cancelled our flights, and we both tried to hold down ginger ale while caring for 2 comparatively recovering kids, the oldest of whom was really bummed about missing Christmas at Nannie and Grandpa's house and worried about whether Santa would be able to find us.
We were worried about that too, because most of our presents had been shipped out there already.
But also, we felt like garbage. Both D and I were in no shape to parent. Neither of us could bear the sight of food, and the kids were hungry. Neither of us could walk around for more than a few seconds at a time, and Mabel wanted to do her daily unending stroll around the apartment in search of power outlets.
At least with Penny, who is 3 and a half, we could turn on the tv and make it a sofa day (a big treat in her world). But for Mabel, at 10 months old and just barely walking, there was no way to keep her voluntarily in one place.
So we put her in a playpen. In front of the tv. All day. Sometimes I threw crackers in there. She was not happy.
And this is one of the hardest parts of parenting. The moments when you need - really need - to take care of yourself, but your kids also need to be cared for. In these cases, I always recommend getting help, but sometimes there's no help to get. And that's when a deep sense of hopelessness can sneak into the whole thing. When all you can think is "I can't do this" but you have to keep doing it, so it turns into "I hate this."
It's a lot like childbirth, actually. Or some parts of pregnancy. Or coping with a bad tantrum in a public place when you're having a terrible day.
The lowest parts of parenting are the times when "I can't do this" becomes "I hate this" because exhaustion turns into desperation.
And there's no happy ending I can offer here. Just that these lowest points are temporary, they pass, and someday they're sort of funny. But in the middle of it, it feels terrible. And it feels like it'll never end. And it's ok to hate it. It's also ok to put the baby in a playpen for hours and throw crackers at her on rare occasions.
In the end, we had a few Christmas presents at home that we put under the tree, and we stuffed stockings with our airplane toys. I had chicken broth for Christmas dinner, D had dry toast, and the kids had macaroni and cheese. It wasn't great, but it was sort of Christmas. And we'll definitely always remember it. I expect it'll get funnier as the years go on, but I honestly hope I never forget that feeling of total desperation. That's part of the reality of parenting, and it's not fair to only remember or talk about the good parts. Having a family is a package deal, the good comes with the bad. I find it helpful to remember that, so that the bad times don't feel so much like utter disaster.
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