I often tell people that I think God has a great sense of humor, judging by the cards he has dealt me.
I like to think about him with a little, or very large, notebook, planning my life and all of it's occurances.
"Ok, so I think for this one, she'll start out as a 'tom-boy' and then grow up to love all things fashion and girly-ness. And how about I give her unruly hair that she will hate and loathe as a middle schooler, and then I'll wait to let her learn how to fix it until she's in college. Then, hmmm, how about she'll be a terrible student and struggle in school, and then become a school teacher! Perfect! Oh, and then I think I'll throw in a lot of other embarrassing and character building moments along the way. This is going to be hilarious! I can't wait.... I really do love my job."
Lets start with the gross stuff, and get it out of the way.
I have a completely irrational fear of all things throw-up. I don't want to talk about it, hear about it, read about it, write about it..... Anyway, Bug, now three, has shown us (since the age of 6 months) her extreme inability to deal with any sort of motion: swing, car, boat, airplane, marry go round, tire swing.... you.name.it. Now there are "car vitamins" (chewable dramamine) in every area of my life, car, purse, make-up bag, and even places I have hidden them, thinking, "this way if I run out of the pills in the box, and we are driving through a mountain pass, and our air conditioning goes out, and rolling the windows down isn't helping, I'll remember to look here: in the strange storage compartment of my car where the 'get your spare tire out' tools live! Perfect!"
Bug also has a ridiculously strong gag reflex, which I won't dive into completely, but just know that if she tastes something she doesn't like, or if she touches something that her baby sister has recently chewed on..... lovely noises and faces are induced. Don't even get me started on cold and flu season when she has a major throat clearing cough.
Peanut on the other hand, while not showing any signs of motion sickness, or common sense for that matter, has been known to put her fingers down her throat and make herself gag and even sick at times. This usually happens in the car, when I can't reach her little hand to yank it from the depths, and she succeeds in her strange and gross quest for who knows exactly what, which then makes her gag-reflecting sister start in on her own wonderful behavior. Lovely. Now, I am pulled over in a strange apartment building parking lot, cleaning up Peanut, and shouting at Bug to "just relax!! please just look out the other window and breath through your mouth!! You are not allowed to get sick too!" All to which Bug says, between deep mouth breathing, "But..... Mommy!.... why...... does.... she.... do that?!?!"
Very funny, God.
The other thing that I think is comical, is that I am doing pretty difficult math equations at least 3, sometimes up to 6, times a day when I am giving Bug her insulin. If you were one of my math teachers, or any of my teachers for that matter, you would be laughing. I hate all things math. I'm terrible with numbers. I add or subtract a zero all the time and tell people that "yes! she bought her house for $25,000! Isn't that great?!" or "I think tuition is something like $70,000 a year for Kindergarten?!"
You can imagine my surprise, as I sat in the hospital room, holding my newly diagnosed little Bug, and the diabetes educator proceeded to write a huge equation on the board, with x's and y's and big words, and decimals. It was at that point that I decided I would not be leaving the hospital and/or staff of medical professionals unless I had a magical calculator to do the math, and dose my child for me.
My fear of depending on my non-mathminded brain to keep my child alive, is possibly what drove me to my point of assertion with the doctors. "So, are y'all ready to go home today?!" To which I replied, "No! I am not leaving until we have a pump. Yes, I'm serious. Yes, I realize I will be living on this tiny weird chair/couch/bed for 4 more days. I can not do the math!"
Again... Ha. Ha.
Lastly, we come to my husband.
I always said that I would never leave my beloved home state. I also remember saying at a very young age, after witnessing a friend's dad missing a sporting event due to his work schedule as a doctor, that "I will never marry a doctor! He will never be home!" Well, here I am, a happily uprooted Texan and a doctor's wife.
After meeting his family and father (a physician as well), and hearing stories of life with dad as a doctor, I was only encouraged by how little he would actually miss and how similar his work hours would be to that of my own father, as an attorney. I also came to realize that when he was gone, I had this huge built in family of people that I actually happen to love spending time with.... so work hours, schmirk hours... I also got to marry his lovely family!
The Texas uprooting was much easier than I had expected. My new people are fabulous and friendly, and there are things here called pine trees and seasons! After living in my new state for a little over 5 years, I can say that, while still a Texan at heart, there is no place I would rather be.
Clearly God knows what is best for me, because I would not have chosen any of those things, had I been left to my own devices.... except for my husband, I would pick him again for sure. As it turns out, I am actually really good with Bug's dosages and have become a self proclaimed "whiz" when it comes to the equations; which in turn has given me the confidence I need to care for her on a daily basis. The throw ups, I could still do without, but I know it will all make for really great stories some day.......? Verdict is still out on that one. And lastly, I love my new home state and my husband's profession..... All the up's and downs' that come with it all, have made me who I am today, and I happen to like lil ol' me!
So now, I can only cautiously await the ways that the Lord will humble me and humor himself in the days to come. Although, I must admit, I'm laughing too.
Have a great week!
