Her little hand groped for mine in the dark. She was pulling at my shirt until I realized what she was looking for. I let her gain purchase on what she wanted and I felt the heat in her little paw. Her fingers squeeze tight over mine.
She has been sick. Mucous flows freely and she is hoarse and her little sad sick face melts me. I am worn out and sleep deprived. She won't stay in her bed like usual. I can't hardly blame her - who wants to be alone when they feel that bad? I suppose she figures that if I can't make it go away the least she can do is make sure I understand the scope of what she is enduring.
She tosses and turns, throws herself across my body. I will not rest tonight - again.
She is not alone. Her brothers add to the chorus of coughs, hacks, sneezes, and snots. All four - this is a record. Their personalities are so interesting to me when they are sick. One common theme emerges, however. Mom. Mom should have the answers, the relief. I medicate, make hot tea, rub backs, wipe snot, and remind that hands need to be washed.
She is smiling now. Medicine on board and waffle in tummy. Her hoarse little voice is so cute as she says, "I got a baaaaayyybyy!!"
Better go. I have hands to hold, noses to wipe, and a little mom magic to dish out. Someday.... I will sleep.