This Morning

We woke up at four am today. Marlowe crying, warm to the touch, and drenched in sweat. I removed her blanket and handed her a bottle, a mixture of almond milk and water, and I went back to bed. Thirty minutes later, she was crying again. Still hot, still drenched in sweat, bottle: untouched. I picked her up, removed her pants, changed her very heavy diaper, and brought her in my room. I lay her curved, against my belly, and handed her the bottle again. She drank it, rolled over, rolled over again, and began throwing up. I feared choking and quickly picked her up to turn her on her side. She was crying and we were both wet. I held her as she cried. I wanted to cry. I took off our clothes, grabbed a small blanket and sat on the couch with her hot, tired body on mine. I called her father. I asked for his opinion. I asked for advice. I became frustrated. I hung up. I calmed myself, and called him back. He told me to let him know if we needed anything. I told him I would let her try to sleep and I would let him know if anything happened. We hung up, but kept in touch. I laid there for hours with Marlowe asleep, on top of me. She woke up every so often to let out a cry and slowly drift back into hot sleep. I cried. I want to cry now. I've grown to be so incredibly happy in my life, but in moments like these, I just want to cry. I laid there quietly sobbing with her on top of me. I wanted to get her a cool rag, a fever reducer, I wanted to take her temperature, and do anything to help her feel better. I needed to use the restroom, I needed a glass of water, and I needed a shower to clean her sick mess off my chest. I thought about the commitments I would have to break in the morning. I wanted to crawl into my bed, but knew I couldn't as the watery-milk was seeping into my mattress, into my pillows, hardening every linen I own. And I cried. Only one person, with two arms. 

There isn't a lot of things I need or want in this life. I live simply and I live comfortably. Sure, I would enjoy a home in a nicer-safer area or a more practical car, but I don't need those things to be happy. Money doesn't impress me and most things money can buy won't impress me. My happiness is here, in my home, knowing that my daughter (and myself) is clean, well-fed, healthy, growing, learning, and always incredibly happy. As long those things are in order, I am happy. The material things don't and won't matter when I know I am providing the most important basic needs, feelings, and nurturing for my daughter. So when I have Marlowe, sick and upset, struggling for sleep on top of my chest, and I find myself craving more arms or one more body to lend a hand, and raise her in the tough times, I cry.

As I sit here crying, I am so grateful. I am lucky to have what I have. I am lucky to be able to give what I  give. I know I am good mother, it's just sometimes, I wish there was more of me: for her. At this current moment, I am giving her everything I can give her. I am forlorn and I am sorry that I cannot be more than one person, but everyday, I will strive to be everything, within my ability, to give her more.

Currently, Marlowe is sleeping, but stirring, and likely to awaken soon. I asked Alex to come by this morning, he did. He brought the few items I asked for and replaced my body, with his, so I could take care of the house and myself. He left, leaving both of us asleep. Marlowe has been in an out of sleep all morning. We're not sure exactly what is wrong. It doesn't seem to be overly serious, but either way, I am hoping (really hoping) everything is just a symptom of the three (plus) canines and molars pushing through her gums. Her fever is steady, but so is her discomfort. Hopefully tomorrow, we will have a visit with a doctor. In the meantime, in her waking hours, I'll be trying to fill her body with fluids (in small doses, of course) and trying to keep her temperature down. In her time asleep, I will collecting myself and making sure everything around her is in place, as it should be.

I'll be back soon.