|(Not actually my kitchen, but pretty close)|
The dirty dishes from last night stare at me from the kitchen and judgement pours out of their stare, trying to swallow me in guilt as if to say, “How can you even think of sitting down to your coffee when we’re still here? You’re a terrible housekeeper.”
Let me back up.
It’s 1 in the morning and the man child is awake again. I can hear him scooting his bassinet around, now its hitting the door of the closet. I know he doesn’t feel well by his fever and runny nose. He didn’t nurse very well yesterday, so I go to him, pick him up, change his diaper and feed him.
it’s 1:30 in the morning and I’m crawling back in bed. Somehow waking in the night makes my head pound all the more, and my throat rage. I snuggle into Josh and feel the heat of his fever radiating off of his back. I begin to pray.
It’s 1:45 in the morning and I’m up again, laying hands on the man child in prayer. I go between my husband and my son, interceding with the Father. “Heal them! Strengthen their bodies. Remove any illness and injury. Strengthen the tendons and fibers and muscles and joints. You are a good father, a powerful God, the healer of those who have faith to ask. You delight to give good things to your children, and these are your sons! Be glorified through the work you do in their bodies.”
It’s 3 in the morning and again I hear the squeak of the baby’s bed. It’s really time to upgrade him to a bigger (more stationary) bed. I get up, cradle him in my arms, listen to his clear breathing, and fall back asleep feeding him. I wake again with a squirming child at my side. Knowing he’ll sleep better on his own, I carry him back to his own bed.
The night passes on and dawn breaks the darkness early in north Idaho. I vaguely remember two more feedings before it’s actually time to get up around six-thirty. The man child begins to fuss again and I moan to Josh that I’ve exceeded my maximum ability to get up in the night. He kindly tucks the baby back in, and shuts both the baby’s door and our own before slipping out of the house to keep an early appointment with a friend. I get to burrow into the comforter and sleep for some sweet moments.
Now it’s 8am, and it’s a rush to get some breakfast into Josh and some lunch in his lunch box and out the door, since his first client is also at 8. Of course now the baby is awake and won’t be pacified again but must eat now. As the fires seem to subside, I start some coffee, make a bowl of yogurt, get dressed and get ready to sit down and wrap my head around the day.
I blink and now it’s 10:30. Somehow while my eyes were closing and opening again, three diapers were changed, baby was played with and a rough sketch of a shopping list was made. The laundry is finished and put away. I’ve made headway in my quest to track down a source for pasture raised eggs, and researched more healthy menu ideas to get more vegetables into our diet. I’ve put the power bill in the mail, attempted twice more to feed the baby, (who lately is enthralled with everything but eating during the daytime), and I sit down to my cold cup of coffee.
You know what, Dishes? You’re not my top priority. Yes, I’ll get to you, but I’m not going to set aside caring for my husband or baby for you, and neither am I going to let you negate all of the things I’ve already accomplished. Because you know what, Dishes? You’re not that big of a deal.
It’s 11:10 in the morning, the cold coffee is gone, the baby sleeps and these sweats are getting too warm. Okay, I guess I’ll go do the dishes now.