Recently, I had one of those gut-wrenching, soul-crushing mommy weeks. The kind of week where you really figure out what you’re made of.
My twins and my husband had the flu, and my baby was sick from having to take Tamiflu. We were in quarantine for a full week, and I was at the end of my rope.
My husband was on his death bed. Usually I think he (like all men) is extremely dramatic when sick, but this time it was legit. I’ve never seen him like that, and there was nothing I could do. I was pretty much throwing cups of water and plain English muffins in the room and then running away and letting him fend for himself.
I had the twins who needed mommy snuggles at every second (and of course didn’t want to share me), and a 6-month-old who also needed me every second with the worst case of diarrhea (and diaper rash) I’ve ever experienced. I was trying to comfort the big girls, and then frantically washing my hands before touching the baby.
I was okay like this for a few days, but when day three came around, I almost lost it. Seriously, I thought I wasn’t going to make it through the week. I was in a dark, dark place.
That day was also my 32nd birthday. So, I shed a tear or two when I had to cancel my 90-minute birthday facial and dinner reservations at my favorite restaurant, and then sucked it up, because it was time to go into Supermom mode.
Then, the sweetest thing happened…my tribe, my mommy besties, they brought me back to life.
I got my entire Whole Foods grocery list, a special birthday lunch from my favorite lunch spot, gluten free cupcakes, a bottle of wine, Gatorade for the sickies, all delivered to my front porch, along with a million texts and words of encouragement.