Today started with my sweet, sweet smallest girl waking up covered in dried vomit. She hadn't cried. I hadn't heard her wake up at all, or even cough last night. She woke up at 6, looked confused, and quietly snuggled as I whisked her into the shower, brushed her teeth and handed her off to daddy so I could change her sheets.
Today didn't start great.
There was snow on the ground when I woke up, and snow falling from the sky too for that matter. My biggest girl, who woke up by 6:30, wanted to go out and play but I told her we'd have to wait to see if Little Sister felt better later.
So we watched TV. We played games on my computer. We marched laps around the coffee table. We built with blocks. We sang "Where is Thumbkin?" We painted. We cut. We glued. We watched more TV.
I reluctantly put my sweet baby girl in her crib for her nap after briefly considering promising to never ever make her go to that awful place again.
She was fine.
We were all fine.
This morning, I felt myself spiraling. I felt myself losing control. I'd been so happy that she'd slept, and then to find her how I did, I just thought I must be the worst mother who'd ever lived.
My stomach still hurts. My big girl and I have a little bit of snowed in cabin fever. My sweet baby is still sick.
And we're all okay anyway.
Because whatever I can do today is just going to have to be enough, so it is enough.
But maybe whatever I can do every day is enough too.