He lies beside me in the "big bed," restless. Displacing his father to the tiny little bed in the kids playroom, but Daddy is happy to move just so that our smallest can be closer to Mama. Boys need their Mama's when they're sick.
He's been feverish all day, coughing, snuggling, lying on the bed watching episode after episode of Diego, without so much as moving a muscle. His breaths are not the rhythmic deep breaths of a baby sleeping in peace. Every so often he let's out a cry, a moan, or a deep junky cough. Readjusts. Pushes his hand deeper down inside his shirt, a comfort measure he resorts to when he can't stick his hand down mine.
Upstairs, his brother stirs, and out of him tumbles the same junky cough, the one that makes me think that there's a good chance that there will be another missed day of work tomorrow, and maybe even a trip to town to see the doctor.
There are so many exciting things happening in life right now, that days like today, and likely tomorrow, are just as healing for me as they are for him...or them...we'll see. Beside me, Corben's feet reach down the bed; down, down, down, nearly kicking the dog if he tried. (The dog who has gladly stretched out to fill the spot that his masters legs and feet usually occupy.) He's so big, so tall all stretched out like this. And yet, when he cries for me as he wakes from a nap, or snuggles up in the chair to nurse first thing in the morning, those moments he still feels so wee to me. In those moments he's still my baby.
But he won't be for long.
So days of sick, and rest, and healing; days that remind you that the laundry can wait and the work can wait, and dinner can still be made with the baby in the sling, just like the olden days...days like these are good. And lovely. And feel right, despite the fact that he is sick.
And then he stirs again, crawling on top of me to snuggle, and making it damn near impossible to type, iPad or no.
And that's my cue. To rest.
(Linking up with Just Write.)