3:23 A.M.

That's what time I'm sitting down to write.

My body is weary yet I'm too keyed up to sleep. Too worried to rest and too taut to relax. Trinity is ill... again. Another virus. *sigh* I pray she's better soon. We're not long getting back from a 2 a.m. run to the local Wal-mart (closed) and then onward to the Wal-mart in a neighboring town (praise God for the 24 hour ones). Pedialyte, formula (shut up), a bottle (I said shut up) and some quick fix breakfast items for later. I've about 4 open bottles of Motrin and various syringes lying around the house and a fifth bottle in the passenger seat of the car. My poor kid... feverish and just a bleary eyed as me she removed her pacifier long enough to give me the biggest, most beautiful smile while I leaned against the counter in the checkout line.

Trin, bless her, is teething throughout this virus that I was praying to God would be only 24 hours. Well we've passed that mark so we simply pray for the best and strength to withstand it. I know it's a mild bug, but it worries me to see her so uncomfortable and I'm worried that if it lasts longer than the weekend I may not be able to stay home with her thanks to the bullshit from my job.

Emotionally, physically, mentally I'm spent. I'm so fucking tired I can't stand myself. The slightest thing makes me cry, and not always in a bad way. Complete strangers in Wal-mart wished me a heartfelt Mother's Day. The first was a guy sweeping the aisle that the Pedialyte was on and he stuttered and stammered until he got out his well wishes. I was touched that he went through the effort of working through what appears to be a severe speech impediment just to wish someone he doesn't know a happy Mother's Day. That's more acknowledgement than I'll get from anyone else other than Jaalyn. Songs on the radio bring tears to my eyes; thinking about how blessed I am despite my problems causes me to weep; I know firsthand how much worse it could be. I've been in the hospital with sick babies before and I know what it's like to be separated from your child by steel bars of a crib cage and the only thing you can touch is her bruised hand and it kills you to be unable to hold her, rock her and comfort her. I know the anxiety felt because you don't know if your child will live or die. I know the pain of watching an infant get a spinal tap, having major surgery, and still being considered the healthiest baby in the nursery.

Originally I was going to write a bitching message about how underappreciated most mother's feel and all about the useless and usually pointless gifts given us. None of that matters anymore. As I sit with my sick tot, there's no greater gift I could ever receive than her and her sister. They, quite simply, are the best things to ever happen to me. The day I became a mother my life had meaning and purpose. Lately I'd lost sight of that purpose. Reminiscing brought it all back.