Wednesday, June 28, 2017

sick day.

Nolan takes longer than usual to go down for his nap, and once he does, I turn on Wild Kratts for Cal and disappear into my book. Once he passes the hour mark that means I have to start feeling guilty, I pause the show and ask him what he wants to do.

"Let's do a project!" he cries which in essence means, "Let's make a huge mess!"

I kneel on the floor and rest my head on the couch, willing myself to be a fun mom. It's day four of this horrible cold and I'm hardly feeling any better. "Mama, are you sleeping?" he asks.

"No, I'm sick," I answer, and Cal creeps away. I hear him rustling around in the kitchen, and I'm afraid to look up and see the havoc his unsupervised project is wreaking. I drift into sleep for a minute or ten, I can't tell.

Little knees wedge themselves under my arms. "Mama, Mama, wake up," Cal says.

"I don't want to, baby," I whine, our roles reversed for a minute. "I'm sick."

Something cold presses against my fingers. "I got you some water, Mama." He sits back and smiles.

I almost start crying at this small act of tenderness by my little boy whose brain is just starting to wire for empathy. "Oh, thank you Cal! That was helping! Thank you!" He nods, pleased with himself. I quickly swallow back the water, get to my feet.

"Okay, Cal. Let's make something."

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