Landon has a fever of 102.7. It has continued to rise since this morning despite a regular Tylenol regimen. The poor little man is so exhausted he can barely keep himself awake for more than a half hour at a time. When he is awake he is miserable and just wants to sit there being held. Is it wrong of me to sort of enjoy that? I have been blessed with an incredibly active, curious, squirmy, short-attention-spanned child whom I usually have to force-hug while he pushes me away with both arms and legs because I am apparently ruining his diabolical plan of catching the cat. So this burying his face into my shoulder, sitting on my lap with his head leaning against my chest or falling asleep nuzzled into the crook of my arm – I don’t know this child. But I kind of like that he’s here.
Not that I want my child to feel pain or discomfort by any means, but I suppose it feels like I am actually able to do something for him, provide some sort of relief, because otherwise I am completely helpless. I can’t take away sickness from him. I can’t transfer the pain onto myself. I can’t force medicine to work better, faster. I can’t provide a magic cure. I can’t ensure that something worse won’t happen in the future. Helpless – the least klassy feeling there is. But I can provide a safe and familiar (albeit somewhat bony) place to lay his little head, as long as this little snuggly boy chooses to hang around.
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