This post comes from the armchair of our front room, where I'm humming Christmas carols and soothing a sick 'Rado. I knew he was going to get something, but at the same time I was hoping he had some amazing superimmune system that would kill it off. Maybe baby #2 (whenever we decide to have him/her) will get that. After not eating most of the day, Connor downed every blackberry, carrot slice, orange slice, and puff I handed him when Z brought him home from daycare. 'Rad made some important phone calls that just couldn't, slipped into his jammies, and here we sit. Who knew that a 15-month old's head could feel so heavy when it's been on your shoulder for so long.
It's these moments that we're destined to love and hate as parents. There's something about feeling so completely needed and capable - I wouldn't want anyone else caring for 'Rado right now because I truly believe that all he needs is me, my aging shoulder, and to sleep with both of us by the tree. But for all my yearnings to be so wanted and needed by him, I would be happier if he were his goofy, happy, healthy self who cries when I read him his bedtime book because he's just having to much fun to go to sleep. If this is as bad as it gets for his first sickness though, I think I'll be able to savor this moment of need and comfort.