“Mama,” my five year old son announced softly, “Daddy’s funner than you.”
“Okay,” I said. I blinked away a few tears as I knew how true that statement was.
He seemed to rethink what he said and added, “I mean you’re fun, but daddy’s funner.”
“Okay,” I said again.
I looked off because I didn’t want him to see my eyes watering. My glasses were a good enough shield.
He had hit a soft spot in me, and he was right. Daddy is much, much ‘funner’. I am not the fun one. I never have been. (I am so incredibly grateful to have such a fun husband, and fun daddy to my children.) However, I recently had the kids all to myself for a week while my husband was traveling on a work trip…. we barely left the house. Most of the time I just wanted to lie on the couch and sleep.
They are such sweet kids, really, and I knew what my son told me wasn’t in malice at all. He was simply speaking the truth, as children are known to do. I am not the fun one. Not by a long shot.
I often long to be a fun mom. I watch other moms with energy engage their multiple children in awe and wonder. What must it be like to have that much vigor, that much life? To be able to crawl around on the floor without searing pain? To have the energy and motivation to do fun and enlightening crafts and projects? To be able to swim with them, dance with them, really live with them?
To not just float through life, desperate to get… somewhere… but not knowing what that means?
Fibromyalgia/chronic fatigue is strange: what I have always thought of as my enemy, I have come to realize is actually my friend: my pain is my body telling me something is wrong. My body wants to be better.
It’s good to realize the symptoms I feel are trying to help me in some way. That really does make it a little better.
We’ll get through it. God has been so faithful to me in every way possible. Jesus came to earth healing people and making them whole, and I know that’s His plan for me.
The waiting is just not much fun sometimes, as my sweet 5 year old son will tell you.
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