On my second daughter’s first birthday, I spent most of the day playing “At this time last year.”
You know the game: Oh, at this time last year, they were starting to induce. At this time last year, we were deciding for sure on her name.
But when I started having what felt like actual labor pains, it seemed like the game might have gone too far.
A few hours and one ER trip later, we learned I had an “angry” appendix. (That was really what the doctor said, and, boy, did it feel angry!)
For the next two weeks, I was out of commission. I went back to work after a few days, but I couldn’t pick up anything more than 10 pounds or exercise.
I tend to be hard on myself in situations like this and push myself to do more or try harder. But this time I stopped and thought about what kind of expectations I would put on my best friend if she were dealing with the same thing.
None. Zero. I would expect her to sit on the couch and get better.
So that’s what I did.
In some ways, it felt like I had given birth again, and, this time around, I had learned my lesson. I took all the help I could get!
Can I come over and help with laundry? YES.
Do you need me to take the girls to school? YES.
I was so thankful to have supportive communities at church and work who provided that much-needed help.
One of the toughest parts was actually going out in public but not being able to help my husband or explain to the people who (I thought) must be judging the lazy mom who wasn’t helping her husband with the rambling toddler, screaming baby, or cart full of groceries. If nothing else, this experience reminded me, yet again, that I have no business judging someone else; you never know what struggles she might be facing.
My husband was super understanding, but, of course, it was a little tougher to explain to my daughters (at 2.5 and 1) why Mommy couldn’t pick them up or play like we usually do.
What finally worked? Showing them my scars and telling them that I had a “big ow.” A little gross, but they were completely fascinated. We looked at those scars a lot.
(Still recovering at the belated birthday party.)
All in all, accepting help and being kinder to myself ended up making the whole experience feel a bit like a mini-vacation, minus the excruciating pain, of course.
And I learned, when all else fails with my kids, bust out those awesome scars.
Have you ever been out of commission? How did you manage?
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Oh man, that had to be heartbreaking to not be able to pick up your littles! Thank God for wonderful, helpful husbands. And you make a wonderful point – it’s so easy to judge someone, but you never know what’s really going on behind the scenes (goes for things beyond health too!).