do-over

So many times this week I've had to remind our boys (and one in particular) to "do over" their words or behavior. Yesterday's conversation on the way to school went something like, "Before we get out of the car, we need to set our relationships right and begin our day again. You both need to apologize to each other before you start your school day." Interesting. One did so sincerely, and when I came to pick him up at day's end, he bounded out of the school building with a super-cute comment about the "crazy weather" (snow showers followed by bright sun). The other made a less-than-sincere apology (um, actually a sarcastic and defiant one), and by school day's end, continued to carry the weight of a broken relationship, climbing into the car slowly, angrily, and barely able to speak.

Do-overs. How many times, in the worst of the depressed moments I've had since Moriah's birth, have I wished to do-over so many of the moments we've experienced! The moment she was diagnosed--to have touched my baby for "who" she was before I knew "what" she had. To have shed fewer panicked tears. And maybe, yes, it's crossed my mind, to go back to the "way we were"--a family of four, not of five. These have been painful do-over wishes.

This week I realized that I'm left with one consistent do-over. Monday I was exhausted and barely functioning. Tuesday I realized I had a chance to re-do Monday, to wake up and welcome the new day as a chance at a do-over, to be less curt with the boys and more accepting of all the appointments for Moriah I was dreading.

And then today came. This morning I was exhausted. When my alarm went off this morning, I truly thought it was for Jason, who by then was already long gone on his way to Lynn. I had already been up once during the night--at 3:30 am--to feed a voracious Moriah (the ACTH makes her so hungry, and she took nearly 15 ounces). And by the time I returned to sleep, at 5 am, I had only an hour of sleep before my alarm rang. I tried hitting the snooze button a few times. I tried waking up Jackson (always the first of the boys to get up and shower, as he takes the longest to get ready in the mornings) and returning to my sofa bed. And then I realized--Melissa, this is your do-over. Get up. Get going. Start a new day. And just as I thought this, Moriah woke up and started babbling, and I stumbled over and looked blearily into her pack-and-play (she's long outgrown the cradle she used to sleep in here and our crib mattress is--where else?--in storage, awaiting our move), and saw she was smiling so broadly. Welcoming a new morning, as she always does. Anticipating joy before it even arrives.

I love that. Her medical issues have certainly added stresses to our lives, but she is also the one who most often reminds me why life is worth doing over, day after day. She smiles, and gives me courage to welcome a new day, and the strength to ignore the unknown days ahead. The do-over, she seems to say, is right now. Get up, Mom! Here I am! Ready to start again!