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This past week, 3/4 of our home has been ill.  And one of those 1/4’s has been my son.  He is your typical boy of 4.5 (which he confirms daily), who loves running and body slamming his sister as much as he loves eating sweets and building Lego.  Life is, for him, one pint-sized playful marvel after the other.  No real responsibility other than making his bed and putting his laundry into his hamper (which Momma usually does for him) and, waiting for him, a basement full of trucks, diggers, cranes, and bungee cords, all attached to some fantastical Lego creation he has just made.

But Sunday night, he was a little off.  We put him to bed, and he came out about 10 minutes later (which is odd for him) stating that he was hot and he could not sleep.  I went up to tuck him back in, felt his head for fever (of which there was none), and kissed goodnight.

Monday morning he awoke, crying and hot.  It’s the saddest thing in the world when your kids get sick.  Their tired little eyes looking up at you like wounded little puppies.  Their worn out little body’s, too tired to do much more than snuggle up for some comfort.  I gave him a dose of Tylenol, helped to get him dressed, put the toothpaste on his toothbrush, and suited him up.  After hurrying outside to drive his sister to school, me and my bud came home, called the doctor, and waited.

And waiting is the worst.  In the short time between home and heading over to the doctor’s office, my bud got so much worse.  He was shivering from the fever that had come blazing back.  He was pale from the foreign health invader in his little body that was clearly taking over.  He didn’t speak, only curled up into my lap, nesting for comfort.  He didn’t even ask the secretary for a lollipop, which he always does.  We filled his prescription, bought more medicine, and headed out to the car.

I picked him up and held on to him while we walked out to the parking lot.  My bud was so sick he didn’t move in my arms.  I picked him up straight, and he stayed straight.  As we walked outside, in his sick little voice, full still of concern for others and a deep, honey-sweet pit of love, asked me rather quietly, “Momma, are you okay?”  My bud.  Sick with strep.  Shivering like a wet little puppy after bath time.  Hungry because his throat was on fire and eating was too damn tough.  Asked me if I was okay.

Some people make your laugh a little louder, your smile a little brighter, and your life a little better.  The next day, after a good few doses of his medicine, him and I laughed hysterically because he said to me, “I poop love you.”  Honestly, my son and I share a very special connection.  As all of you parents do with your children.  But for my bud, his little life has been fraught already with some frightening and significant health issues.  And all the while, me and him have moved through it together, tightly holding onto one another, needing and getting strength from one another, always finding something to laugh at.  I’ve held him, helped him, and healed him as best I can so far.  I feel that’s the least I can do for someone who has made my life louder, brighter, and better.

Enjoy Your Moments with the Ones who Make Your Memories.


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