Ursa Minor resisted all of my motherly attention all day. Despite a cough and the sniffles, he refused to do any of the sitting, resting, taking a nap or being cool instructions that I lobbed at him. “No, I’m ok,” he said. Then he ran off to do whatever. There were cars to race and people to save and everything else. I decided to spare the kids at gymnastics from his germs, but otherwise didn’t deviate from my crazy Wednesday schedule. In other words, I let him resist my orders to stay put and be cool. There was plenty for me to do today and his fully cooperative participation would go a long way in getting it all done.
But we both felt the consequences of our choices at 7:44 this evening when he was curled up in my lap, snoring away, hot with a fever.
The Husband and Ursa Major had Boy Scouts this evening. I had already committed to putting Minor to bed early so he would have a fighting chance of making it to school tomorrow. Before I knew it, he was crawling into the “big bed” and demanding a snuggle. I put one arm around him and immediately knew. He batted away the ear thermometer just after the thing read 102.9. I dashed for ibuprofen and scooped him up. He fell into a deep, deep sleep and I held him, staring, worried. There is nothing that can snap you back to that helpless new-mom state of mind quite like a high fever. They think they are invincible and, some days, you do, too… and then they get oven hot. It makes your heart stop.
When The Husband and Major returned, Minor woke up just long enough to greet his brother. I told him he could sleep in the “big bed” with me tonight if he wanted to. (I wanted him to stay. I already had my reasoning lined up for The Husband and had already figured out how to instruct the man to prepare the guest bed for himself). Minor shook his head. “No,” he said. “Because this room doesn’t have the bug light.”
“Well, no,” I conceded. “But you don’t need the bug light if you have The Mommy. The Mommy is better than the bug light.”
He considered this and, ultimately, was unimpressed. “But if I wake up in the night, I won’t be able to see, and I won’t be safe.”
“But, baby, the safest place you could possibly be in the whole world is with me. The Mommy. I make the safety.”
“Ok, well… I’m going to my bed now.”
Dang… burn. Out done by the plastic Ikea light shaped like a bug. That’s just… dang…
“We are going to check on you a few times tonight,” I warned him.
“Ok,” he said. Then he walked across the hall, leaving me with my worries.
It is going to be a long night of worry and little sleep. Hopefully the meds will do their thing and the fever will break.
Thanks for your patience as I keep things short tonight. But I’ll be here Friday for Quiet Thoughts.