Ironically, I picked the title for this post yesterday. Yesterday was day one of what I thought was a simple cold; with it came the usual symptoms: my little guy had a low-grade fever, some congestion, and the usual unpleasant ebb and flow of mild gastroenteritis.
That was yesterday afternoon; yesterday afternoon when a few hours with a subdued, rosy-cheeked first-grader was almost a welcome break from, well, a few hours with a healthy one. There was a collection of bodies strewn under a collection of blankets, supported by a jumble of pillows. We watched a couple of movies, and encouraged The Boy to drink half-mugs of faux chicken-noodle soup (my Grandmother would have a fit at such a criminal substitution).
My post was to convey the serenity of the day, and discuss how - though I would never wish illness on anyone - being forced to gear down and allow time to pass is sometimes a fine thing.
Instead, yesterday turned into last night, and then into this evening.
We were up together until 4am, The Boy and I. His sleep was so restless he whimpered from unsatisfied fatigue. We stared at the Solar-System mobile suspended from his ceiling, talked back-and-forth about not much at all, and waited for each other to be the first to succumb to sleep. The difference between us was his eagerness, yet inability, to rest; and my eagerness, yet inability, to see to it he did.
Finally, he slept. I, rather than return upstairs to my bedroom, set up HQ on the couch outside his.
Three hours later - 7am on the dot - he awoke. 7am is when his day begins, regardless of the hour he tumbles into bed. A party until 11? Up at 7. An early night after a long day? Up at 7. Feverish and restless until 4? See you in three hours.
It is now 7:30pm on day two. The fever has returned. After nearly falling asleep in yet another mug of chicken noodle soup at 5:30, and being carried to bed twenty-minutes later. He awoke at 7 - pm this time - confused, thinking 7am had arrived and a new day had begun. Such confusion may be the result of a fever, but is exacerbated by today's sunset on the shortest day of the year, which ensures it is as dark in the early evening as it is in the early morning.
He's lying next to me, again, not being able to sleep. And me? I'm tired, Googling 'helping sick kids sleep', and suddenly willing to give up this small, rosy-cheeked lethargic first grader for the talker, joker, runner and skipper I usually live with. Hello, first day of winter.
As Mr. Murrow would say: Good Night and Good Luck.
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