One of the hardest things...

Megan is on her very first antibiotics. She has been coughing for several days (and nights). She has been unable to sleep very long even if I held her upright in the recliner or propped her up a little on her Boppy pillow. I finally took her to the doctor when she stopped trying get into everything. She lost her voice. It was so sad to see her try to cry and nothing could come out. I could not cuddle her enough.

One of the hardest things about being a mom is knowing your child is suffering. Somehow, whatever your child may be going through is amplified within yourself as a mother. When they laugh, your joy is amplified. When they cry, your sadness is amplified. When they are nervous, proud, thankful...you get the idea. As women we have our own kaleidoscope of emotion but somehow we can feel the emotions of our kids as well. Sometimes we are talking about minor discomforts and sometimes we are talking about heart wrenching tragedies, with a lot of stuff in between, and I realize that. I know there are mothers whose children are hungry and they are unable to feed them. I know there are mothers whose children are sick and they are unable to treat them. I know there are mothers facing chronic health conditions who rise to various challenges every day to reduce their child's struggles. What I am saying is that I believe all mothers hurt when their children hurt. And my poor baby has had a sad week this week. Tonsillitis and an ear infection all at once. That is a lot going on in a little eighteen pound body!

I know I should be naming blessings above all else. I feel guilty in my little corner for worrying about a 101 degree fever when I look around at the devastation faced all over the world. But somebody told me once that whatever mountain I am facing is the mountain I am facing and I don't have to compare it to other people's. It will still mean something when I get through it. So maybe it is okay that it makes me sad when some kids at school made fun of the way I fixed Madison's hair one day and it made her cry. Maybe it's okay when I ache for Jaron when I know he has something to say to someone and I watch him struggle because he is too scared to speak up. And maybe it's okay that I blog about my sad little baby with no voice or energy for anything but patting me on the shoulder as I rock her.