My Young Nurse
Every now and then, your children blow your mind with their sweetness. My mind was thus blown today.
My fever, latent for a day or two after the weekend, redeveloped late this morning and really took hold by midafternoon. I lay down with one child and then the other until everyone was asleep and I could collapse into my own bed in an attempt at speed-healing.
An hour later, my son wandered in to find me shivering with chills. My DayQuil was wearing off, and I was nearly incapacitated.
"How long are you going to stay in your bed, Momma?" he asked.
"Momma doesn't feel good, honey," I said. "Will you go get Dr. Beep from the bathroom cupboard?"
Dr. Beep is what we call our digital ear thermometer for the beeping sound it makes when it has registered a temperature. And before I knew it, Dr. Beep was in my shaky hand.
"Thanks, honey," I said. "I do have a pretty high fever. Would you mind getting Momma her medicine from her office? There's a little cup next to it that I'll need, too."
And off he scurried while I stayed in bed, returning not a minute later and waiting beside the bed while I fumbled with the child-proof cap.
"Here, honey. Put these on the nightstand, please," I said, handing him the medicine bottle and the gooey cup.
He set the medicine down but walked out the door with the cup. Still unconcerned about anything but my own well-being, I didn't even wonder what he was up to.
Five minutes later, I found out. He re-entered my room with a little bowl of Craisins. Handing it to me, he said, "I thought you needed a snack. And I washed the cup out. I even used soap."
Once I had dragged myself downstairs and was huddled under an afghan on the couch, he asked me, "Would you like a drink of water?"
"Sure," I responded.
And in two minutes he emerged from the kitchen, balancing a full glass of water on the bed tray with the folding legs that we use for the rare breakfast in bed. His dear little smile was almost too precious to bear.
When he asked if I would make French toast for dinner again tonight, I couldn't say anything but yes. I would have made him beef Wellington if he'd asked.
My fever, latent for a day or two after the weekend, redeveloped late this morning and really took hold by midafternoon. I lay down with one child and then the other until everyone was asleep and I could collapse into my own bed in an attempt at speed-healing.
An hour later, my son wandered in to find me shivering with chills. My DayQuil was wearing off, and I was nearly incapacitated.
"How long are you going to stay in your bed, Momma?" he asked.
"Momma doesn't feel good, honey," I said. "Will you go get Dr. Beep from the bathroom cupboard?"
Dr. Beep is what we call our digital ear thermometer for the beeping sound it makes when it has registered a temperature. And before I knew it, Dr. Beep was in my shaky hand.
"Thanks, honey," I said. "I do have a pretty high fever. Would you mind getting Momma her medicine from her office? There's a little cup next to it that I'll need, too."
And off he scurried while I stayed in bed, returning not a minute later and waiting beside the bed while I fumbled with the child-proof cap.
"Here, honey. Put these on the nightstand, please," I said, handing him the medicine bottle and the gooey cup.
He set the medicine down but walked out the door with the cup. Still unconcerned about anything but my own well-being, I didn't even wonder what he was up to.
Five minutes later, I found out. He re-entered my room with a little bowl of Craisins. Handing it to me, he said, "I thought you needed a snack. And I washed the cup out. I even used soap."
Once I had dragged myself downstairs and was huddled under an afghan on the couch, he asked me, "Would you like a drink of water?"
"Sure," I responded.
And in two minutes he emerged from the kitchen, balancing a full glass of water on the bed tray with the folding legs that we use for the rare breakfast in bed. His dear little smile was almost too precious to bear.
When he asked if I would make French toast for dinner again tonight, I couldn't say anything but yes. I would have made him beef Wellington if he'd asked.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 9:19 PM
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