I wake up with a start, eyes open, holding my breath listening for what it was that woke me up, even though I already know. It's that tell-tale cough accompanied by a wailing hurt cry. I sigh, drag myself out of bed, eyes half open and go into my son's room. He's sitting there crying so badly my mommy mode kicks in. I pick him up, grab a blanket and sit in the rocking chair. As he collapses on my chest I curse myself for picking a rocking chair that doesn't recline. What the hell was I thinking? Did I really think that 4:30 in the morning this chair would be comfortable?
As I rock my sick baby I realize that I really don't care for this job. This whole mommy thing isn't all it's cracked up to be. My toes are freezing, my head is pounding, this chair is uncomfortable, and I think about all those things that mommies say, "Oh, it's all worth it." "Oh, this job is so fullfilling." "Oh, shut the hell up," I think. This sucks and you can't tell me any different.
Suddenly my son has such a severe coughing fit, sits up on my lap, looks at me, starts crying and drops his head onto my chest. Now I feel bad because all I want to do is fix him. It's 4:30 in the morning, and there is nothing that I can do but love him up and snuggle him hoping he falls asleep on me. So that's what he finally does. He falls asleep on me, and as I kiss his warm forehead I don't notice my cold toes, my throbbing head, my uncomfortable chair. All I notice is my son's heavy breathing, his soft hair, his warm feet and the best baby smell ever. In this moment I no longer dislike this job. This is the moment where I vow to do this job as close to perfect as I can. Someone very important is counting on me, and I will not let anyone, not even my bitchy self, get in the way of this thankless but perfect-for-me job.