Need, Need, Need.

I have read this post a million times today.(Go read it. It's good.)  She has four children, two of those children are twin baby girls, and even though I only have one kid, I understand. So much. This week has been one giant sea of need. The baby needs, needs, needs. And I am charged, as his momma, to meet those needs. His father, my husband, helps. Don't get me wrong. But at the end of the day, it is me that boy wants. His outstretched arms reaching, reaching, reaching for me always. And I always pick him up. Not always right away (a woman has to pee sometimes, you know?) but if his arms are up and he needs to be held, that's a need I can meet. That's a need I will always want to meet for him. Comfort. Reassurance. A new view of the counter top because what he sees there are a collection of things that he can't touch. He points and strains and tries to communicate to me that he wants, wants, wants that TV remote control. He wants, wants, wants those scissors (um, no sir, you may not). And so I dance him into the other room. The room filled to the brim with things he can touch. His toys. Soft pillows. Books. But he wants that remote. Those scissors. And we do the dance again. To his toys, his things, the things he can touch.
This mothering thing is exhausting. He had a shit storm of sickness assail him all at once. Cutting a molar tooth, stomach virus (the barf! the river of poop!), upper respiratory infection and ear infection. ALL AT ONE TIME. I had a melt down yesterday and cried really hard on the phone to my husband because I just wanted the baby to feel better and I was at my wits end. Trying to work the paying job and trying to take care of the sick baby and trying not to lose my shit with worry because I have a Ph.D. in worry and all of these things happening at one time can only mean that something HORRIBLE is happening. Earlier in the week I was on a large conference call, mainly just listening to updates from the rest of the team, and in the middle of the call, the kid throws up. In that moment, the thing to do is pretty clear. Hang up, clean up and comfort the sick baby. But it's not always clear. The push and pull of my job and my life, it leaves me mostly confused. I want to do well at work, I need to do well at work. And yet, my heart sits outside of me watching the movie Up for the millionth time and the job and it's importance dim in comparison. I would rather sit on the floor with that kid leaning against me, playing with my hair than talk / email / instant message anyone about credit cards. Who cares about credit cards? Mr. Fredrickson just made his house into a hot air balloon! That is way more exciting.
I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore. I am just spent today. Spent in a way that I can't really articulate. And yet, I left my office early to go get the kid and finish my work day at home, because given the choice, I would rather do it this way. Sitting at my kitchen table with a sleeping baby upstairs.  It's harder, and I'm not always on my game, but I wouldn't trade the time for anything.