We all have our weaknesses. Myself very much included.
Our Christmas morning began like any other – there was wonderful time with family, relaxing time opening stockings, and delicious food. It was wonderful.
Then. It happened.
Luckily, I wasn't in the room at the time (I was *surprise, surprise* in the kitchen with my Mom cooking Christmas dinner). But soon enough, I heard the sound and voices muttering about the mess in the living room. A volt of fear and adrenaline shot down my spine.
Georgia got the stomach flu.
My worst (okay, maybe not the worst…but still pretty bad) nightmare about being a parent had come to life. As soon as I got pregnant, I knew I would have to face this day. I knew the day would come when I would need to conquer my fear and muster the strength I knew it would take to care for my child amidst the stomach flu.
Immediately after it happened, I ran to gather her in my arms. Stuart had already run her into the bathroom, but I couldn't keep myself from grabbing her and holding her close. She was crying, of course, not understanding the horrible feeling she must have been experiencing. My poor baby. Into the bathtub she went and there she played, happy as a clam – laughing and splashing as if nothing had happened.
Until half an hour later.
I'll spare you the gruesome details, but let's just say, the process repeated itself. A few times.
I was surprised how I managed, considering that throwing up is on my list of top-five most horrible things in the world. Right there next to spiders and being trapped in small spaces.
After another bath and a change of pajamas, we were on the road to recovery. I was feeling pretty good and even managed to down a few bites of scalloped potatoes. Until…
…my nephew projectile vomited all over the kitchen. It sounded like someone had dumped a five gallon bucket of water onto the floor. How it was even physically possible, I still wonder.
Couple his exhorsist-episode with the fact that, literally minutes later, Georgia had another ‘episode' in her high chair, and this Mama was done. It was like being in a hell house.
I quickly gathered all our things that were scattered around my parents house, gave a quick ‘Sorry, Mom & Dad, that my child threw up all over your house…thanks for Christmas!”, and we were headed home. I needed fresh air – and a change of clothes.
My brother-in-law, and very dedicated Uncle, held Georgia on the way home, with a little silver bowl under her chin. I know…I know…she should have been in her carseat. But she needed to be snuggled and was crying and scared – not to mention the carseat tilts her head too far back so that the…umm, well, you know… couldn't come out. Let's just say it was a long car ride.
But our God is good.
We made it home, changed her pajamas again, read a few books, said a prayer for our sweet girl, and then it was off to bed. She slept soundly through the night and awoke feeling much, much better. I never knew as a parent the pain that seeing your child sick could cause in your heart. It's a horrible and helpless feeling.
Surprisingly, the desire to help and comfort my dear child surpassed my paralyzing fear of vomit. Almost. My parents and Jeremy were eager to help me clean up the mess. Praise God.
Oh, Christmas, sweet Christmas. How thankful I am that we don't seek worldly perfection in this life – on Christmas, or on any other day. Yesterday wasn't about the perfect, uninterrupted Christmas feast. It was about celebrating the birth of our Savior and meditating on His grace.
And as these lessons usually are, it was very timely.
The Lord reminded this Mama to not seek ease, or comfort, or perfection. But to seek Him, His goodness, and His grace in all things.
And when vomit is included, trust me, I'm completely reliant on His grace.
Because it's scary.
P.S. You're welcome for not putting any graphic images on here. Even this photographer has her boundaries.