The past few weeks have been a bit nutty at the Mr. X house. Sick wife, sick son, and now a sick daughter. Mrs. X and Bad News have not been able to quite shake whatever bubonic SARS flu has enveloped them, and now Raven has viral meningitis (which scared the fucking shit out of me, until I realized that it was BACTERIAL meningitis was the really deadly one).
So - I've been playing the heroic single dad the past two weeks. Truth be told, I'm not feeling so hot myself (an annual tradition that happens every time we welcome spring and fall), but I'm nowhere near where my family is. To complicate matters, work has been a raging bitch-goddess during that time, and Bad News, god bless him, has jumped feet first into the terrible twos. Two nights ago, I nearly FedExed him to China. Tantrums, not eating, and being kind of an asshole have been the norm for the last month or so. I know he's just expressing himself and stretching the boundaries of his independence and all that child rearing crap - but truthfully, he's just been a pain in the ass lately.
Last night was fairly typical of what the last weeks have entailed - I got home late from work (after going in early), and was immediately greeted by screaming, tantrums, shouts of "LEAVE ME ALONE!" - and that was just Mrs. X. (Kidding - sort of). Nobody had eaten dinner. Food was everywhere. The house was a mess. Mrs. X was on her last legs (this illness has really sapped her energy), and the kids were hungry and without naps - a potentially nuclear combination.
As I slogged through the household chores of getting everyone to eat, cleaning the kitchen and living room, starting the laundry, giving baths, getting into PJ's, teeth brushed, books read and lights out, I started to imagine the days before kids. The days when I could eat Taco Bell for dinner six nights a week. When "Monday night" in the fall meant "beers and wings with the boys to watch football". When coming home was a calming, relaxing effort.
Finally - five hours after I had gotten home from an 11.5 hour day at work, I sat down to eat my own dinner. Then I heard the footsteps upstairs. Hardwood floors are not conducive to children trying to sneak around out of bed.
I stomped upstairs and "regulated" - which is my term for "either get in bed, or Daddy's going to lose his shit". Both kids were promptly deposited into bed, covered up and charged with the task of going to sleep ASAP.
15 minutes later, I walked upstairs to make sure everyone was asleep - and sure enough, they were. Then it hit me.
I watched my daughter sleep for about 20 minutes. She didn't do anything unusual - she just slept. I'm usually not that sentimental about that stuff, but it just hit me at that exact moment that I needed to take a breath and enjoy them RIGHT NOW - remember the times that they are peaceful and loving and wonderful - because it makes the hard times more bearable.
Even the usually tornadic Bad News was out cold - and had already fallen off the bed (which is the norm). I picked him up and rocked him for a few minutes. He sort of woke up while we were rocking, and I asked him "Do you want me to stop?"
He put his head back on my shoulder and said "No."
Me neither, buddy. Me neither.
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