I find it interesting that BB will be in his body cast for 42 days... nearly the length of Lent. What's more, he broke his leg the day before Ash Wednesday. I certainly don't believe that God caused BB's leg to break, but perhaps God allowed it to happen to teach me?
For all of my good intentions about this Lent, maybe there is even more that I am to learn during this season than I previously supposed.
Monday morning, I was mad. I mean, really mad. Mad to the point of just wanting to walk away. All I could think about from the time I woke up was that none of BB's accident was my fault, yet my life (and BB's) is the most changed by all of this. I'm the one that has to stay home for 6 weeks unless someone comes over to watch BB. I'm the one spending most of the nights on the uncomfortable air mattress in BB's room. I was so resentful for DH being able to go to work every day like normal and being able to have a normal day. Meanwhile, my days have pretty much ground to a halt for right now.
To add to my bad mood, DFACS called me and told me that they were coming by Monday evening. I had been told that they would be inspecting the house for cleanliness. I had been trying to clean the house last week, but the hospital stay had stopped that. I spent this past weekend sick from some bug I caught at the hospital, so still no cleaning happened. Now the housework was behind a week later and it was even worse. I only had several hours to clean my entire house.
While I was trying to clean the house, I was also trying to take care of BB. This past week has been full of attention for BB, and he has gotten rather used to the attention. He did not like me running around the house cleaning. Even though I came whenever he called, it was not enough for him. He ended up having a melt-down for nearly an hour.
While he was screaming and crying, I felt like the worst mother ever. All I could think about was how horrible the past week had been, and how I don't deserve any of this. I was already mad at the hard time DFACS had given us at the hospital; the home inspection was just insult to injury for me. I know they're just doing their job, but that didn't help my mood. I didn't know what exactly they would be looking for. While I couldn't imagine they'd find anything wrong, I've heard tales of people who lost their kids over seemingly nothing.
I finally progressed my cleaning to the bathroom, and I began to clean. I was really starting to get stressed out by everything. I knew my attitude was wrong, so I decided that I'd try to pray. Only my prayer sounded like self-righteous complaining. I'm sure that no one else ever prays like that, but I've been known to do so. I start praying (ranting) to God, finishing with something like, "I just feel like a criminal, and I haven't done anything bad! I didn't do anything wrong! It's not fair!"
No audible reply was given, yet I feel in my heart the response: "Jesus never did any wrong, ever. Yet He was treated so much like a criminal that He died. For things that you did."
A response like that really takes all of my self-righteous reasons to complain away.