A friend emailed me yesterday to ask if I was no longer blogging. I emailed back and asked, "Guess again?" She correctly surmised that the kids have been sick again. This time, they've been taking turns, and the latest is a real doozie. Dash is all alone across the room from me right now, stretched out across our leather sofa. He has decided that the cool comfort of the leather far exceeds the comfort of my warm arms, and he has demanded to be left alone there all day. When his fever hit its highest, he didn't even want me to look at him. Luckily, that high number's been dropping all day, and I am off of my perch: prone on the rather hard floor beneath the couch, squished up against it so that he can't see an iota of my body, since the very existence of the mother who brought him into this world so that he can be feverish and vomiting apparently offends him today. I was not allowed out of the room, but I had to be out of sight -- and after the kid had vomited a couple of dozen times, what was I to do? I complied, passing him a "boot bucket" whenever that first wretch happened. He didn't even want me to hold THAT for him! When he demanded Gatorade, missing from our pantry, he agreed to a ride in the car, but complained the whole way: "Mama, you're carrying me too hard... Mama, I don't have shoes... Mama, I don't want shoes... Mama, the seatbelts are uncomfortable... Mama, the sun is too bright... Mama, this is the wrong store for Gatorade... Mama, I hate." To which I replied, "You don't like what?" And he answered, "I hate today." Yeah, kid, I became a member of that club around 3 a.m. You made it twelve whole hours longer than me. Here's your medal.
So on the one hand, there's nothing worse than having a sick kid; but on the other hand, there's having a sick kid and last night's dinner dishes sitting in the sink because you're not allowed to move. The Premier gave his blessing to my laptop, and, finally, to my sitting in the chair across from him, as long as I don't look at him, watch TV with him, touch him, type loudly or move without permission. My knitting practice is disallowed, as the clicking bothers him.
This is one of those "each day is better than the next" kind of weeks, isn't it?
No matter; I'm stocked up and ready. I now have Gatorade aplenty and some emergency chocolate rations for myself for tomorrow, when I have to watch another sunny day pass by through the window. Someone told me the rain's coming again, so I'm itching to take a walk. Maybe Thursday? I also stocked up on kids' videos from the library, because I believe that kids should have unlimited TV/movie access when sick and unmoving from the couch... and if I had to watch the same Bill Nye "The Moon" video one more time, I would've booked a flight to Seattle, tracked him down, and... yeah. Did I mention that today sucks?
Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, a few thoughts are swirling. What if Dash's ear tube fell out, and this is the first of another string of ear infections? What if it's strep; his stomach hurts, isn't that a sign? What if he's like this tomorrow, with a lower fever but still so irritable and lethargic? Why the hell didn't I go to medical school???
And then there's that little devil on my right shoulder... actually, it's now taunting me from where I left it beneath the couch... saying "hey, since he doesn't want to be touched, maybe Dash will even want to SLEEP here, and you might get your first good night of sleep in four years!" It's an evil thought, but I can't help wondering... what if? There's room for the couch in his bedroom, even. For of all of the sadness that lurks in our house today, there is one great thing happening: self-sufficiency. If he can lie on his own, throw up on his own, comfort himself while sick...? Maybe he is growing up, after all, and that is a rather happy thing.
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