I am sick. The kind of sick where I give up, raise the white flag and call my husband and ask him to come home from work so I can go to bed. Not only do I hate being sick, I hate having to give up and lay down and admit that I’m sick. Blah.
If you have kids, you know they really don’t give a flip when you are sick. They care in their own way, but they really just want you to get up and be mommy again. I thought I’d share how my youngest, Blake, who is three, acts when I’m sick.
Today when my husband came home from work early to help me, I went straight up to our room to lay down. My husband took the kids down to the pond to drive their remote-control boat. The house was quiet, I was warm and comfortable under my blankets and I drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
About 5 minutes later, my three- year-old son, who has an uncanny ability to come in, cry, yell, poop, spill something, have a bad dream or WHATEVER right when I fall asleep, busted open my bedroom door. When I awoke, there were little hands over my mouth and a whisper in my ear, ” Hi mommy, I home! You fill (still) don’t feel good?”
Next thing I know he hoisting himself on the bed,using my body to do so. He planted himself on my stomach as he took off his shoes. Then, he started making himself comfortable and got under the blankets, kicking me in the neck and belly as he squirmed under the covers. He put his head on my pillow, but my head was in the way so he accidentally smacked mine with his huge orb.
The final assault in this “attack” of kindness was him pulling the blanket up over my head, patting my face and saying ” I will take care of you, cute mommy. Don’t worry.”
I felt like I was in the preschool version of the movie Misery. Hopefully, I survive his “care”. I hate being sick.