Convalescing

For those of you who know me, I don't do anything slowly.  I am and have always been an all or nothing girl.  Call it a symptom of my ADD or whatever, it's how I have existed in the world for a long time and slowing down is hard.

Last week, Matt brought home a pretty bad version of the flu from work and slowly but surely each of us succumbed to its slow but terrible wrath (in spite of the flu shots the kids got - awesome).  All except the (soon to be) middle child, who never stopped bouncing up and down and running around the house talking about "Mator" the tow truck, in spite of a mild fever and a small cough. The same boy who decided he was going to become potty independent while the rest of us lay around in the livingroom.  (I found him on the big potty, stool pushed up so his feet are touching, going potty like a pro.  Not once, but every time now.  Not bad for 2 years and one month old!)

Because I am just 28 weeks pregnant today, the thought of flu was kind of terrifying.  All these accounts of preterm labor for pregnant women who have the flu had me pretty worried.  After some digging, I found that it was dehydration that did it, so I drank enough water to float away.  And a week later, we are all on the mending side of the flu, three of us with a lung wracking cough leftover, having watched altogether too much Thomas and Tinkerbell to calm the sometimes unending tears of the small ones who didn't understand that the aches would pass.

The house is a wreck, with piles of tissues and empty tea mugs, unvacuumed floors, various heaps of undone things, and I am mentally struggling with the mess and how much strength I have to make the mess right, which is none.  I've barely kept up with feeding the gang and with the dishes that seem to multiply over night.  Nighttime brings less than enough rest for all with coughs that steal sleep, but at least the fevers have subsided.

So things are slow around here.  Yesterday the weather was strangely warm for February, 60 degrees F, so we went to our favorite park to play in the sandbox and sit in the sunshine.  We walked slowly to the playground and the effort wore me and Cora out.  Judah had way too much energy and got away from me unnoticed, only to be retrieved by a kindly mom who was nearby.

It's hard to slow down.  It's hard to not be strong.  It's hard to not be as vigilant as I normally am.  It's hard to sit still and still have a mind that is running at maximum speed.  But the days will bring rest and recovery and we will all feel better.  The house will be clean again someday.  And for now, I am accepting the slower pace and trying to be still in the moment.  It's kinda peaceful really, letting go of these expectations I have of myself.