Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: FUSSY (11/17/16)
- TITLE: In The Middle of the Night
By Donna Powers
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My daughter Kendra has colic, and she doesn't know any other way to tell me she when she is hurting.
I understood this. But I also knew my sleepless head was hurting, too.
I pulled on my slippers and stepped over to her crib. The night light was on, and it dimly light cast somber shadows across her usually lovely face. Her little cheeks were puffy, and I could see tears coursing down her face. Her arms were flailing, and her knees were drawn up to her belly. Her cries were piercing and almost deafening.
I picked her up and held her close. I'd found this helped, sometimes – or at least muffled her cries. I breathed thanks to God for having a neighbor who worked the night shift. Kendra's crying was unlikely to disturb anyone but the two of us.
Kendra didn't stop crying, so I quickly cupped her diaper to check if she needed it changed. No, that wasn't it. It took 10 minutes of gently patting her back before her cries became less piercing. I sighed with relief and sank down with her onto an easy chair.
Although she'd subsided a bit, I knew from experience not to put her back to bed just yet. No matter how much I longed to go back to sleep, I knew we'd be up for some time yet. In the past, I'd tried every home remedy my friends and family had recommended. None had worked yet. I knew I had to ride this out.
“What are we gonna do, sweetie?” I whispered to my daughter. She sputtered some faint cries, as if to answer me, but of course she didn't have a solution. I smiled. I loved this little angel so much.
Kendra's tears were still falling and her cheeks were still flushed, but her squirming was starting to slow down. Tentatively, I stood and walked slowly over to the dresser. I grabbed my heating pad and two towels, and padded the heating pad as I placed it over her little belly. In the past, this sometimes helped. Slowly toting her and the warm bundle, I sat again. I flicked on some soft classical music and shut my eyes, praying for the relief of Kendra's pain.
These episodes overwhelmed me. “God, I just don't get this!” I cried. “Why is this happening to me? I'm doing my best but she's still up every night. I just wish I had more help, or a good night's sleep, or a better job, or a ...”
As if in direct response to my cry to the Lord, I realized Kendra's crying had stopping, and she was asleep.
And I realized that although Kendra had stopped fussing, I hadn't.
I might never be an expert in handling Kendra's colic, or a pro at balancing my budget or succeeding at life. But I needed to remember that although I didn't have many people to help me, I could always call on God.
As I carried Kendra back to her crib and lay her gently on the soft pink-flowered blankets, I began to pray for the help I sorely needed.
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