It’s early. An hour at which no one should be awake and moving except paperboys
and roosters. I’m lying in a small bed with my 3 year old Little Dude and
the invisible flu bug he brought home from preschool, which he kindly and
unintentionally shared with me.
He's tired, hot and achy but doesn't know how to
express what his body is feeling. Facing each other, I notice he’s grasping one
of his beloved Hot Wheels tightly in each hand. For strength or comfort, they
are with him. As am I. I subtly turn on the white noise machine again, hoping
it will coax a few more minutes of sleep out of him for his weary body. And
mine, as well. I’ve gotten used to running on empty, but doing so while
fighting off illness is a different battle. Another hour of sleep right now would
be better than winning the lottery. And I could really use the money.
As the sound of artificial waves crashing upon a
distant artificial beach repeats, I pick up my iPhone and sigh as I look at the
ridiculously low numbers its clock is displaying. It's so early that my
friends 3 hours ahead on the East Coast haven’t yet begun sharing their pictures
of omelets or tales of getting stuck in traffic on Facebook to entertain me.
Resting our stuffy heads on fluffy adjoining
pillows, I hope that the source of the flu was at least fun for him while being
an evil conduit. Was it the swings on the playground or the school’s lunchroom?
Or the grocery store cart’s handle? We’ll never know.
Though I hope for more rest, as I was just up feeding
his newborn brother an hour ago, I know it's unlikely any
time in the foreseeable future. As my eyelids bounce heavily, simultaneously trying
to sleep and stay awake, I feel something rolling up slowly up my neck like a
tarantula in a bad horror movie would. Thankfully it’s only a Hot Wheels
monster truck cruising before parking on my congested scalp.
I put down my iPhone, as it needs rest too, and
watch my son. He looks at me as we cough together.
This is bonding.