I had a headache yesterday. A I’m-trying-not-to-cry-because-it-will-only-hurt-more, I-hope-I-don’t-throw-up-or-maybe-I-do-because-I-feel-better-afterward, don’t-ask-me-to-do-anything type headache.
It stinks. You probably know that.
And it reminded me of this post, which I started weeks ago (after my last headache).
I started it on a Sunday, then never got around to finishing it, then completely forgot about it.
So, many days late and several dollars short, here it is.
I have two children. Some days, due to migraines or menstrual issues, I’m not capable of being a very hands-on mom.
As a result, I’m quite familiar with mommy guilt.
Someone told me that my children would learn empathy and compassion.
I caught a glimpse of that today.
I had a headache yesterday and spent most of the day on the couch. I felt well enough today to go to church. The official medical term for the period following a migraine is “postdrone.” I just call it a migraine hangover–far more descriptive, don’t you think?
I definitely had that today.
I arrived at church and took my usual seat in the back of the sanctuary. The band started to play the first song.
It was loud. Painfully, unbearably loud.
My husband runs the sound board, so I know it wasn’t really as loud as it felt to me. He keeps a tight rein on such things and is good at his job. But oh, for my post-migraine self, it was torture.
My ten-year-old noticed me wincing. She knew what that expression meant.
So she brought me a pair of the earplugs that the sound booth stocks.
I never asked her to do that or told her I was hurting. She just saw me and brought me something to help.