Oh, this boy.
He has my heart.
He’s such a nice boy.
And sometimes he’s such a naughty boy, too.
But I understand his heart, his humor, his dreams. Even his frumpy moods.
And I love him for it all.
So when he’s sick and feverish and fresh out of the tub, I can’t help it.
I have to sit with him and rub his back, feeling the heat seep through his polyester pajama shirt.
I have to rub his spiky wet hair and feel his forehead (again) and ask him if he wants popsicles. Ginger ale? A mint?
And his limpid eyes just look at me, not caring about anything but finding relief. Finding sleep.
And I think about how vulnerable we are, us mothers.
I think about how a little bug can scare you, how a fever can remind you how good you have it- three healthy children to hold tight.
I love this job, this being a mother thing.
Of all the things I’ve done, all the things I dream of doing, this motherhood experience?
It’s my favorite job of all.
And? Probably the hardest.
Now get better, Connor-bear.
Get better soon. ‘Cuz I hate seeing you uncomfortable. ‘Cuz I hate seeing you sad. (Okay, and because the sickness in this house throughout this winter? Um, I kinda’ want it to stop now.)
See what I mean? This was your twin last week- (and the week before):
And this is her twin this week: No more, k, buddy?
‘Cuz I love you.
A whole bunch, little boy who has my heart.