Another illness is biting the dust. Thank Heavens. My heart, mind, and soul couldn't have taken another day of constant holding, crying, and monitoring a high fever.
And yet, one thing that surprises me over and over is how much I have to give to my child. Just when you think there isn't a drop left, the tank is empty, the reservoir is drained, this mystical being arises inside. I am not sure who she is exactly, but I like her a lot. She is someone with whom I'd be friends.
I just don't know her very well still. Even though I was born with a heavy supply of patience, this mom thing often means getting down to the crumbs in the cupboard (just had to look up how to spell that). Down to the small scraps of belief in God, in yourself, in your ability to...do anything.
There's always more, though. The reinforcements arrive via invisible elves, and often in the nick of time. Just before you break through the glass doors and run crazy into the streets.
Strangely, the most intense and difficult roles we live and relationships we have are often the best. To roughly quote Khalil Gibran, "to live without love is to live without laughing all your laughter or crying all your tears."
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