What a difference a week makes...

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A friend of mine is doing a thing called, “flaunt-free Friday”. The premise behind this is that we put all our good stuff on Facebook, but rarely talk about the hard stuff, the bad stuff. In that mind, let me tell you about my week.
Rewinding to the start of last week, the gorgeous guy who I had spent the weekend with went back to the baby house. (He is only one.) But rather than leaving empty handed, I returned with the littlest from the baby house, lovingly named sickbaby. He had awful nappy rash, and just generally wasn’t in good form, so it was suggested he might benefit from a little one on one TLC. I happily obliged.
Newborns do not sleep. Like at all. Ever.
I began to slip on the second day, since I hadn’t slept properly at the weekend either. I was grumpy. I took sickbaby to Spanish class with me, because Dan had the two little big ones. Now Dan was grumpy.
We headed out for dinner with Spanish school (and sickbaby), and in the trufi on the way home Dan offered to do a night with the little one. I suggested that that was the night, and he gave in.
Fast-forward to the next morning, Dan walked in at half 7, handed me the baby and said, “tag, you’re it.” One hours sleep. Now Dan was really grumpy.
Sickbaby was still sick, but we had no idea why. The next day he cried, dawn to dusk, and so he went back to the baby house to see the doctor. Doctor said it was just hunger. Now I was grumpy, and so was sickbaby. (He told me.)
He had to stay at the baby house. I don’t know if I was grumpy or relieved.
That evening, fever.
Me, not the children.
Sickbaby gave me bronchitis or something equally unpleasant for the lungs.
Bedridden for 4 days.
Kill. Me. Now.
I am, however, almost alive again.
But let me tell you a secret. During the ups and downs of this week, I was not all goodness and light. I was so fed up.
I wanted to go home.
I got homesick for the first time.
I skyped Mum, and then cried.
Because sometimes it is hard.
Hard to know what is best.
Hard to not get cuddles from the boys.
Hard to not get enough sleep.
Hard to be away from home.
Hard to miss your friends and family. (And dog. Mostly the dog.)
But it’s okay if it’s hard.
Because last night I spent my third night on the floor under the crib of sickbaby who is in hospital.
Today I will arrive home at 9am and get cuddles from the two little guys and they will watch a movie in my bed and I will sleep.
Tonight I will probably be back at the hospital, and I will get to hang out with some really lovely nurses and the mums of the other kids in the ward, and they’ll ask about the foundation and why I’m here, and I can maybe, just maybe, talk a little about how He brought me here.
Saturday morning we’ll head with some new friends to see Him. Up on top of that mountain where He looks down over us here in this city.
And He really is watching, and He’s in control. So it’s okay if it’s hard sometimes, because after a while you might just realise that it’s not so hard anymore.

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