Poached eggs

A comfortable warm hug in bed on a cold late Chanukah morning.
He came to give me strength to get out of bed; he's been up for hours already. He went to morning services with two of our boys, to pray for all of Am Yisrael, and for me.

The hug, fleeting, as he ran off quite quickly, remembering the poached eggs he is preparing for a late morning snack for the children. Azriel likes them.

On his way back upstairs; happy that he remembered to come back to me, to us.
I am still in the same position he left me in because it is so hard for me to move in the mornings.
He's not coming to pick up where we left off, to help me feel optimistic enough to get out of bed.
No, he goes straight to the laundry room with a child's full hamper to put in in.

Back in the room, I am still in bed (it's cold out there, anyway!), but his hands are full with a laundry basket laden with another few days of clean laundry for the family. No room in those hands for me.

Now he's ironing his shirts.

And I am in bed.

I'm getting up. I'm getting up. I'm getting up. Get up already!

Milk-of-Magnesia is making my stomach burble, but at least it doesn't hurt, and it works when the natural stuff doesn't.

He does my jobs when I can't.
I want to be the mom who makes the poached eggs.
Be around and available more.

I feel like I'm an old body encasing a young woman.
Hips, skin grafts, mesh holding my innards in place (slowly failing me).
Heavy medicines, side effects, kidneys.
Sleep, often restless... sleeping pills.

I just heard the click-clack of dishes and water; familiar sounds of cleaning up the kitchen.
He's doing the dishes.

I know you feel that you would love for your husbands to do this stuff, while you stay in bed.
But you wouldn't, believe me.
Thank your dishes, your laundry, your cooking meals and snacks, your conversations with your children.
Sleep deeply at night.
Be healthy.

And pray for me while I pray for myself, for the first time.