A Slice of Humble Pie For Me, Please

This weekend, I was humbled. I was being such a know-it-all, and God, in His infinite wisdom, decided to take me down a peg or two. And boy, am I glad He did.

Abigail was sick this weekend. Ugh. She slept poorly on Thursday night, which is usually a sign that something is brewing. She was fine for most of the day on Friday, but Tutor Time did call us mid-afternoon to let us know that she was a bit out of sorts. Poor munchkin is cutting FOUR molars right now, so we figured that probably had something to do with it. She was fine by the time I picked her up, and she slept pretty well on Friday night, so we thought she'd be okay. She went to Tot Music on Saturday morning with Carey, and then Mama volunteered to watch Abby and Sofia on Saturday afternoon. Carey and I stayed local, doing some grocery shopping, and were back home by dinner time. Right about this time was when Abby got very clingy, and then we had an extremely rough night on Saturday. We thought about waiting and watching on Sunday, but then little munchkin threw up (on me and the kitchen floor). So, we took her over to the doctor's office, and my poor little girl was diagnosed with an ear infection and the beginnings of a respiratory illness. She was prescribed an antibiotic and we were told to keep her home yesterday to use her nebulizer and get her fever under control.

Not entirely unexpectedly, Sunday was an extremely rough day. Abby was super clingy and wanted to be held by me. And only me. It was like she was velcroed to my neck. My arms were tired. My back hurt. But most of all, my heart hurt because I could feel how hot Abby was and see how miserable she felt. By about 4:00 on Sunday afternoon, my nerves were stretched. I was holding Abby, who was crying, and I found myself crying, too. Carey, who had been sitting by all day and had tried on multiple occasions to take Abby, only to be told by me that Abigail wanted her mommy, finally came over, grabbed Abby out of my arms, and told me to go downstairs and relax. I felt awful, because Abby started crying even harder and was reaching for me, with tears in her eyes, wailing "No! No!" Carey looked at me, and very sternly told me to go away.

I sat on the couch downstairs, tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt badly that Abby was sick. I felt badly that she didn't want to go to Carey. And, truth be told, I felt a little sorry for myself since my back and arms hurt so badly. (You don't realize how heavy 23.5 pounds is until you hold it all day...) In the midst of my pity party, I suddenly realized that the crying had stopped. I heard some of Abby's musical toys. I heard the pitter-patter of little feet. And, eventually, I even heard chattering and laughing. Whoa! What happened? I walked to the foot of the stairs, and Carey told me to get back downstairs - Abby was fine. In fact, she was running back and forth between her bedroom and the living room, playing with her toys and reading books with daddy. So, banished back downstairs, I sat there, re-living my pity party, wondering what it is about me that encourages clingy, crabby babies.

And then it hit me. Here I was, thinking that I had all the answers, taking Abby out of Carey's hands every time she would cry for me. But, you know what? There are times when a little girl needs her daddy. There are times when there is no substitute for a daddy hug or a daddy tickle or a reading session with daddy. And yes, there may be times when Abby wants to be held by me, but there are also going to be times when Abby wants, and in fact, needs, to be held by her daddy. I've said it before: Carey is calm, and that calming effect does wonders for both myself and Abby. I'm blessed that he is my husband, and I'm blessed that he is such an amazing father to Abigail.

So, as I sat on the couch downstairs, eating some leftover Christmas cookies, watching football and listening to my little girl laugh with her daddy, I realized that God had served me a much-needed slice of humble pie. I don't have all the answers, and Abigail needs her mommy and her daddy in equal doses. Later that night, as we prayed over Abigail and tucked her into bed, I thanked God for Carey, who not only made Abigail feel better, but made Abigail's mommy feel better, too. Carey, I love you. *smooch*