My poor Kemry is sick.
As I speak, she is conked-out on my stomach, curled up in a ball, battling a 103.4 degree fever.
It just kills me, it does!
Even though she is keeping her spunky personality through it, the only thing that made her giddy was taking silly pictures together on my iphone.
Seriously.
She didn't even want a bath {which she usually refuses to get out of each night}.
When I put her in the tub, she just shook her head, whined, and started to scale the side, reaching up to me.
So, as we cuddle on my bed with an endless supply of Gossip Girl to kill time until Daddy gets home {with Chinese takeout, the ultimate mommy-cure}, me in sweats and the babester in only her diaper, I can't help to feel so helpless.
Extremely helpless.
And very inadequate at that.
And very inadequate at that.
But that helplessness also comes with gratitude.
To my mom, for listening to me cry because I get scared too easily, and for reassuring me that I am a great mother.
To my dad, for chatting with Kemry on the phone and making her smile.
For the wonderful people at work {especially Jes and Josh} for covering my shift on a crazy Saturday night.
For the sort-of grouchy on-call-pediatrician who gave me some advice and put my mind at ease.
For my brother and sister-in-law who helped cuddle Kemry while I ran to get more infant Tylenol and Baby Vicks {especially my brother who helped give her a blessing at 1 am}.
For the comfy air mattress we own that allowed me to watch over the Kembot for the past two nights, even though it only means a few hours of sleep.
And especially for my great husband who has been right by me and figuring all of this out from scratch as well.
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