When Dash is sick, he turns from my kinetic, lovey little boy into a Dementor. For those of you who haven't read Harry Potter book 3, a Dementor is an soulless, foul being that sucks all of the happy out of you and can even suck out your very soul with its kiss. Example:
Mama: Dash, please stop kicking Mama. That hurts me.
Dash kicks harder.
Mama: Ouch! Dash, stop hurting me! I asked you please to stop kicking me!
Dash kicks harder and multiple times.
Mama: YOU STOP KICKING ME RIGHT NOW!
Dash: No, Mama, YOU stop it. (Kick.)
Now, no one understands more than me how much it sucks to be sick. It really, really sucks big hairy toe knuckles. But I woke up with Dash the Dementor every hour of the night for the last two nights, held him while he heaved and dry heaved, changed my sheets, changed his jammies and wiped his tears. About the last thing I deserve is to be kicked like one of Michael Vick's dogs. But this Dementor, he's age two. Of course, I made him sit on the step (our version of time-out), but he really doesn't get it. And it makes him meaner, not only when he's sick. With Petunia, we never had the terrible twos. We had one -- ONE -- terrible day when she was three, but that was about it. So today, I'm about to explode and keep repeating in my head "What the eff is this? This is NOT happy! NOT HAPPY!"
So I do thank Dash for interjecting one brief moment of laughter into my day. When I put his favorite fifi medi on a high shelf where he couldn't reach it to suck on its cap all day, he reached his little arms up and said, "Mama, can you get me high?"
Oh, but if I could, Dash, then maybe we'd both find the happy in this, 'cause I'm just not seeing it, mon.
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