Sick day

Finny came whimpering into my bedroom the other morning. This is unusual. He is a happy and independent waker. He usually doesn’t wake me up until he is dressed and fed himself. I have the best kids.
Between the whimpers were snuffles.  He’d gone to bed with a fairly significant cold, so I wasn’t shocked by his unhappy waking.  “Don’t you feel well, baby?” I asked.  He looked at me and shook his head, glassy eyed, pale faced, dark circles rimming his eyes, his kissable little lips in an irresistible pout.  I hoisted myself over to make space for him in my downy bed-cave.  Parent beds are so much more comfortable. I think that’s a rule. We try to make our kids’ beds comfortable, but they don’t measure up to ours. This makes me feel guilty sometimes, but I comfort myself that ours has to be a little bit more comfy so that it is special for when they are sick or having bad dreams.  Yes. That’s the only reason.
His freezing little hand reached out to clutch me, and I held it next to my body to warm it up. “You don’t have to go to school if you don’t want to.  Just try to go back to sleep now”. He cuddled in closer just as his little sister in utero woke up, and started to stretch and roll around, doing her morning calisthenics.  I held his hand on my tummy so he could feel. A little smile, happy sigh.
After we’d got the others off to school he perked up.  Suspiciously a lot.  He donned what he calls his “cowboy hat” and stuffed his feet into too-small cowboy boots from our dress up stash.  He galloped around the living room on his hobby horse. “Mommy, I can make it sound like I am on a real horse. Watch this. It’s going to be magical”. And it was. Completely.  After a while his little spurt of energy wore off and I believed he was genuinely sick again.  Whew. We weren’t delinquents after all.
We had an educational morning actually. He regaled me with the difference between a solid, a liquid and a gas, using his hands to illustrate. It was a very informative and concise demonstration.    After some food, some TV and some more chatting I told him that it would be good if he took a nap so that his immune system good guys would have a chance to kill the bad germ guys.   I explained that the good guys work best when you are asleep. His eyes were wide with wonder. He had questions about that.  He decided it would be a good idea. I nobly volunteered to nap with him.
He brought a book to bed. It was his sister’s.  It was the Dork Diaries, in the same genre as “Diary of a Wimpy Kid”. She has been reading it to him at night and he finds it quite hilarious.  One of his favourite words is “hilarious”.  I can’t tell you how many times he has come to me breathless with gurgling laughter ,wanting to recount a tale, “mommy listen/watch this…it’s so hi-la-rious!” He had many hilarious excerpts to share with me. He read them as I began to doze.
After a couple of pages he snuggled down beside me, and soon fell into the slow sleep breathing, that healing, soothing rhythm of baby sleep.  I was powerless but to follow. Several times I stirred, heartburn starting it’s inevitable surge up towards my throat but as uncomfortable as I was, I could only bring myself to make the tiniest movements. I did not want to wake my baby.  It’s my overriding instinct. NEVER. WAKE. THE. BABY. Even when the baby is 6.
I watched him as he slept, drinking it in, watching him get more and more rosy. Eventually he woke up and scooted over close to me with a little sigh. “Do you feel better now, my baby?” A solemn nod. “Do you think the good guys got the germ guys?” Another solemn nod. A deliciously warm and soft post-sleep cheek snuggled into my hand.
Sweet sleepy voice,
“Mommy you are the best mommy in the whole, wide, wide world. Even if there was another mommy that looked JUST like you, I would still choose you.”
Even if there a million other little 6 year old boys in the world who looked just like him, I would still choose him. He is perfection. I ache to freeze him in time but I also can’t wait to see what he will become.   It will be something cool. Of this I have no doubt.
I volunteered in his classroom today. I love to watch him, engaging with his classmates, doing his schoolwork with such intense concentration and joy. He stands at his desk when he works, his whole body is in on the task. He looks so creative-even doing Maths.  Especially doing Maths. There is no listlessness, no just calling it in, getting it over with.  He is invested. His nickname at school is “Happy”. Gabe told me this morning that he worries that Finny will be teased in second grade because he smiles too much.  I told Gabe that we will take our chances with that.


Here he is as Dancing Crockett a couple of months ago.  Happy.

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