Today is the longest day of the year. Ironically, it has also felt like the longest week of the year.
While I was busy hitting the 20-week mark of my pregnancy, my 20-month-old came down with a good old case of Hand-foot-and-mouth. Fevers, rashes, uncharacteristic fussiness, and sleep deprivation abound. I’m pretty sure Ford has logged more screen time this week than he has his entire life, and we’ve done more couch-sitting during this most unwelcome six-day quarantine than I care to think about.
Even still, I’m trying my best to find the sweetness in the struggle.
I know this is temporary, even if it doesn’t feel like it in the day-by-day, hour-by-hour. And I’m storing up visions of Ford making his way to me with arms outstretched saying, “Mama, snuggle you!”—an extra hoarse quality punctuating his already deep voice.
Tonight we ordered pizza and managed to eat outside while Ford played in the yard for a (very) short time. It wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned ringing in summer’s official start, but it was our night nonetheless.
I imagine the coming weekend will include a Daniel Tiger Detox and some hardcore disinfecting. Maybe we’ll even hit the symptom-free mark and make our public re-entry. And a full night’s rest? That sure wouldn’t hurt.
As for today, it’s the longest day of the year. For me this has been true in more ways than one.
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The Longest Day of the Year