My Cherub

The flu chronicles continue with a glimpse into my day...

It is about 5:30pm. I went to the kitchen to work on dinner and Colin begged to lay in the living room. He had been tucked away in my bed all day, with the exception of the trip to the pediatrician. I promptly agreed and made him a very cozy bed on the couch, complete with pillows and blankets and his train table pulled up next to him for placement of Kleenex box and juice. I made dinner and he watched "The Fresh Beat Band". I made him spaghetti, which he couldn't bring himself to eat. I made myself a bowl of pasta and sat down on the end of the couch with him. He is a mess today...his hair, which is getting too long, is rumpled and messy; he is wearing his car pajama shirt from last night and a pair of firetruck underwear. His little face is so pale and his eyes are big and glassy. They are rimmed with pink circles and his nose is red on the end from wiping it. His lashes, which are so long and full that I ache with jealousy over them, seem dark and heavy and are damp on the ends from his eyes watering. His lips are slightly chapped and therefore look rather rosy. He is leaning against his pillows and looks like a sick little cherub sitting there, all tired and feeling icky. All I can think when I stare at him is how adorable he is and how big and tiny he seems to be all at the same time. He then said, "Mommy, tell me about candy. I love popsicles and suckers. Are both of those candy?". I told him that popsicles didn't generally count in the candy category, although I could see where that would be confusing. He then asked me to name various other examples of candy. I start to name a few (Snickers...Twix...Skittles) and as I talk, he pulls his knees up and props his right elbow on one. He then rests the side of his precious face against his palm and sighs as he listens. He asks me several questions from that position, including inquiries into all the candy bars that have nuts because "I really don't like nuts" and then, in a fast moving topic change, why carnivals and fairs are not always in town. For some reason, this whole little moment was so cute and wonderful and sweet that I decided to write it down immediately. He looked so forlorn and sick, but so unwittingly adorable at the same time. He likes it when I sit down and just listen to him. He actually sighed when I devoted my attention to a discussion of candy. He chimed in frequently with things like, "What other kinds are there, Mama? " and "What is your favorite candy?". I love him so much. I do. I'm just saying. :-)

A Mom at Midnight

He is sick. The doctor says it is a light case of the flu, but I think the phrase "light case" was thrown in to make me feel better about the fact that Colin got the mist vaccine instead of the shot. Apparently kids who had the mist this year are still catching the flu...at least more than the kids who got the shot. I will remember this next year. Hopefully.

He has had three very long days and two sleepless nights and overall just a horrible no good very bad week. We are both so tired, my boy and I. I slept in his bed during the first night and he ended up in our bed last night, during a disaster of a midnight fever spike. The poor baby was in hysterics and literally burning up with fever. I finally got him moved to my bed, but he passed out right where I laid him, which left me just about 6 inches of mattress space. I should have climbed up into the bed and tucked myself in the very center. At the time, Enzo was splayed out down the middle of the bed with his head on the pillow right next to my husband. A rational woman would have kicked her dog to the curb and settled into slumber. I, however, did not even think about the huge open softness of the middle of the bed, or of my snoring slumbering fat dog or even of my 6 tiny inches of mattress. Instead, I precariously positioned myself on the sliver of remaining bed by my nightstand and laid my head down so close to Colin's that I could feel his coughs on my cheeks. I tucked the edge of the covers around my calves and proceeded to think "my baby. fever. too high. emergency room? don't be insane. 1am. breathing too hard? cough too deep? emergency room? don't be that mom. go to sleep. sleep. do it. no school tomorrow. call teachers. not now. 1am. he is too hot. emergency room? crazy person." I finally fall asleep, but wake up seemingly every few minutes to the sounds of coughing and the feel of hot baby skin pressed up to me somewhere. I shifted around on my tiny island of space and waited impatiently for the sun to finally put an end to the night. The morning will make it better. We can watch cartoons and make coffee. We can turn all the lights on and I can tuck him into the middle of my bed with a box of Kleenex and apple juice and pop tarts. Mornings are better for moms. Coughs and fevers are much worse at 2am.