No More Small Things

I finally got Covid. Tested positive on Tuesday. Much like Wordle, I was late to the game with this one. While most of the world was getting infected, I held out as long as I could. Dare to be different, that’s what I say. But I finally caved to peer pressure and went ahead and got infected. As did everyone else in my family. Even little Audrey. Don’t worry, she’s fine. If you think a little virus is going to slow her down, you haven’t been reading my blog.

The silver lining of being quarantined with my entire family is that I get to eat lunch with my girls. And today, for some reason, it was extra special. Sometimes the smallest things stop me in my tracks. There is nothing more ordinary than watching a child take a bite of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and yet nothing hits me harder. As I watched Audrey eat her sandwich, a smile covered my face from ear to ear because I remember a time when I wasn’t sure if I would ever be able to see this.

My mind took me to a park bench outside Cook’s Children’s Hospital. It was there that I sat by myself waiting for the results of Audrey’s swallow study. Because of CHARGE, we didn’t know if Audrey would ever be able to swallow. Think about that. Some people with this syndrome spend their entire lives having to feed through a feeding tube. Audrey had to take a test to see if she was even physically able to swallow.

So, two years ago, there I sat on that bench. Due to Covid (remember when we still had to deal with that whole thing) only one parent was allowed inside the hospital. I brought a book to keep me occupied while Audrey took her test and we waited for the results. After reading the first paragraph thirteen times and not being to recall a single word I read, I realized that my mind wouldn’t let me think about anything but Audrey. I thought about all the times I stressed in preparation and nervously waited for the results of a test. On that park bench, none of the numbers or letter grades meant a thing. The stakes of this test were high.

As usual, my mind went to my typical dark place where I envision all the negative destinations that this plotline could travel. What would it be like if she could never eat? I imagined her going to her friend’s birthday parties and being the only one who couldn’t eat the cake. I thought about the family sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner stuffing ourselves with turkey and dressing while Audrey hit “Start” on her feeding pump to begin the flow of liquids that constituted her holiday meal. What would she do if a guy asked her out on a dinner date? What would life be like if she never got to taste a steak? Or chocolate ice cream? Or a Peanut M&M?

Hence the huge grin on my face when I see my little girl pick up a sandwich and take a bite. It warms my heart every single time and I just stop and get lost in the moment. We haven’t gotten to steak or Peanut M&Ms yet, and honestly, I don’t care if we ever do. If she eats nothing but peanut butter and jelly every meal for the rest of her life, you won’t be able to remove the smile from my face with a jackhammer.

Some days, it’s easy for me to feel down because I get preoccupied with headlines in the news or the stress of work, but for now, I’m just thankful that my girl can eat. All the problems and anxiety in my life can be swept away by a single bite of peanut butter and jelly.

This is the point in the blog when I would normally quote the great philosopher, Winnie the Pooh, when he said, “Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.” His sentiment isn’t wrong, in fact, it’s spot on. The difference now is that for me, there are no small things anymore.