It started with a burst of grumpiness. We at first figured it was because he'd fallen asleep in the car while we were out running errands, and when we got home, he had woken up before he'd really taken a true nap.
But it didn't go away. In trying to console him, I realized he was hot. Burning up hot. Checked the temp and there it was. The fever.
It came out of nowhere. Forty minutes earlier, he had been playing outside for one of the first times since last year. Then, suddenly, he was measuring in at over 102 degrees.
We forced some Tylenol on him. Brave little trooper drank as much as he could stand. But for the next half hour, he was inconsolable. Who can blame him? He felt terrible.
Then, he threw up all over me (an event that doesn't even bother me anymore) and fell asleep (after a requisite bath).
That was around 6:00. We let him sleep on his fold-out bed in the living room. We kept watch over him, checking his dropping fever from time to time, while we tried to enjoy our Friday night.
Around 9:30, we went to bed, carrying him up with us. At 12:30, we noted that his fever had spiked back up, and I removed all but his shirt to help him cool off.
At 2:00, a little boy giggled. Sat up. Looked down at his Mommy. Asked to go downstairs to play.
What could I say? What could Daddy say? We dragged ourselves out of bed and carried him down. He immediately sat in the middle of the living room floor and began to "read" us the story of the time when a hurricane hit the island of Sodor, and Thomas the Tank Engine had to rally his friends to work together with the nasty diesels.
After getting some help with another dose of Tylenol (half of which ended up on me), I sent Hubby back to bed. He would have stayed up, most assuredly, but since his band has a gig tonight (Saturday), I felt it best that he get some sleep. No grumpy bear allowed on Sunday, after all.
So, then the little guy requested supper, having slept through the original supper hour. "Fries, dip-dip, cake, and chips." I compromised and traded applesauce for cake. He ate it voraciously.
We watched a DVD of Christmas cartoons (his choice) until he requested to go to the basement at 3:00 (a.m. mind you) to play with his trains. We rebuilt all the track on his island of Sodor. I pushed Henry into a ditch so that Gordon could rescue him and pull him to the Steamworks (you had to be there, I guess).
At 5:00, I begged him to come up and try to fall asleep. He raced up the steps and willingly cuddled with me on the couch. I was the first to fall asleep, but he must have followed soon after because I awoke to find him curled up against me, tendrils of sweaty hair against his forehead and his fingers wrapped around my forearm.
I moved him back to his fold-out bed, not wanting my warmth to spike his fever back up. I curled up on the couch again and slept until about 8:30, when I heard Hubby come down and I demanded he make me a cup of coffee (he willingly obliged and rewarded me with a kiss or seven).
And so it is. That's where I pick up today.
I could have been irate and angry all night (morning?). I could have forced the little guy to stay in bed. I could have scolded him, even yelled at him.
How could I have done that, though?
I love him beyond measure. I hate when he is sick or sad. And you know what, if he wants to get up and have supper and play at three in the morning? I'm going to serve up some grub and push a train around some wooden tracks.
Children are miracles. My son is a little extra miracle given so many circumstances leading to his sweet entry into this world. I don't take miracles lightly.
And I had fun playing with him and talking to him this morning.
And I look forward to doing it all again (minus the fever and puke) when he wakes up for the day.