Today I hate you. Today I hate how sick you are. I hate how you cling to me and scream in agony. I hate how tired I am and how you’re the reason I’ve had 3 hours broken sleep in 24 hours. I hate that you have croup. I hate that you hid your croup from the paramedics and made me look like a twit. I hate that no matter what I do or try to make you feel better, you still cry. Like what I do isn’t good enough for you. Like I’m not listening to what you’re saying you want. Like I’m a bad mother.
I hate that I have to dress you in a cute outfit just to make you harder to hate. To make you easier to love in these energy-draining, end of my tether moments.
I hate that I love you so much, sometimes I forget to put myself first. I hate that you’re number one in our home. I’m envious even.
I hate that in these moments and on these days, when you are so unwell, and miserable, and clamouring for me to make it all better, that all I can do is hold you and radiate my love for you. I wish I could do more. And at the same time, I know that what I am doing is exactly what you need. My love can heal you if I keep on loving.