The past few days my middle daughter, Lanie, has been sick. She spiked a fever of over 103 and spent the better part of the week on the couch covered in blankets up to her eyeballs. She was pasty with gray crescents under her eyes, and her curly hair was beginning to dreadlock from not being able to lift her head off the couch.
I know that a sick child in February is hardly noteworthy. But if you happen to have an especially boisterous child, who will literally climb the walls, and who spends the better part of the day making jokes and answering you with “poopy” or “doody” or “don’t know and don’t care.” Then this change in behavior is totally offputting. But, horrible as it may sound, (and ONLY because she wasn’t vomiting or spewing any other liquid from any bodily orifice) I actually didn’t mind having her home sick like this for a few days.
It gave us a chance to cuddle and watch way too much tv. She just sat, quietly, and let me mother her in the most basic way. It reminded me of her infancy (minus the moaning and the crazy hair) when she was completely content to just snuggle with her mommy. Of course, this was also the child who walked at nine and half months which pretty much ended her infancy phase and turned into the climbing walls phase, so I may feel a little gypped.
Anyhow, Lanie is almost back to her normal self, who I completely adore. And who I am convinced has been given to me to test all that I thought I knew about parenting and all the baggage I hold about being a middle child myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment