Tuesday, August 26, 2014

I hate to ask.... again

Saturday morning I woke up with a 103 temperature.

So as soon as a reasonable hour hit, I called my parents, asking if they could look after John for the day. 

On short notice.


Yet another thing I hate about widowhood.  That sometimes you need to call on assistance to the point where you KNOW it's impacting others. Maybe asking them to go that step beyond their general helpful-human being willingness to help.  Especially if your circle of available assistance is limited. 

Before I called, I spent a couple of hours considering if I could manage on my own.  Just push on through.  But I can't really leave a three and a half year old running amok in the house, while it turns out, I sleep for 3 hours.   If he was 10, I could possibly get away with it.  But definitely not this young.

I knew my step-mother had a chunk of work to do, and also know how hard it often is to get anything done when John's around.  My Dad had standing commitments, so wasn't going to be around for the afternoon.

I keep worrying that he'll grow up and tell me that he felt abandoned as he kept being shipped off to Papa and Nini's house.  I know he's feeling it at the moment as he keeps telling me he doesn't want to go to their place; that he wants mummy.   He's with them a couple of days/evenings a week for 'grandparent' care while I'm studying as it is.  Some weeks of the month he's there more with commitments I want to keep up with for my own sanity.

At least this was only a short-lived thing, by late afternoon with the help of paracetamol and sleep, my temp was down to a level I could manage the short-person and his energy.

Which meant dealing with this...

1 comment:

  1. Oh boy do I get this! My twin girls were 2.5 when my husband died (after wrestling with cancer for several months). Sometimes I feel like this part of my life is all about learning to ask for help. Almost 3 years later I still feel uncomfortable with all the help I need. Yet no matter how much I ask (and now the answer is no as often as yes) it never seems like it is enough help, and no matter how much my girls love the people who take care of them, they would always prefer that it was mommy. Just one of the extra gifts of widowed parenthood, I guess.