That night

That afternoon when you realize that the cranky toddler isn’t just being a pill … he’s got a fever.

That evening where you have to turn over tortilla frying duties to the (very capable) 14 year-old so that you can give in to the pleas of, “Ni-ni! Ni-ni!” and the tug at your sleeve to carry that sweaty little boy upstairs and put him in bed.

That night when you go to bed with a thermometer, cup of water, and some ibuprofen nearby … just in case.

That night when you expect to wake up four, five times before the sun rises.

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And you’re not disappointed. Because not only does the toddler wrestle in the hot, restless sleep of a fever across your chest for hours, but the preschooler sits bolt upright in her bed and announces suddenly, at 3 a.m., that she can’t sleep because her belly is hurting.

Badly.

But she doesn’t have to throw up. No. Not at all.

She doesn’t make it to the toilet. Not the first time, or the second, or even the third. Doesn’t even manage to hit the bucket you finally put by her bed after the first two sheet changes. But by the fourth time, she’s a pro, and so are you …

Which is good, because times five and six are almost smooth, comparably. Except for the ibuprofen wearing off, and the fever coming back, and the toddler wailing, sick and heartbroken, because he just feels rotten.

But then it’s morning. And everything looks better in the morning. Even a sleepless night.

One thought on “That night

  1. Nice to see they all use the same 1/4 section of the bed. No need to spread out. Lol

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