Work with me, please.

20120421-110943.jpg

My day had a surreal start. Jay was at my side of the bed before the birds woke up. He’d had a bad dream about bats, a dream he’s had before, and he asked if I remembered him telling me about it. I didn’t remember; however, if I’d said no, he would have told the story from the beginning and I really wanted to go back to sleep. (Maybe he told me about it while I was sleeping. This is one of the scary ways I know I’m becoming more and more like my own mother. She can carry on what sounds like a coherent conversation if you wake her up, yet she will remember nary a word of it.) I told Jay what I always tell the kids when they have a bad dream — lie back down and think of something happy or fun until you go to sleep, and then you’ll have a good dream. I told Jay to think of his class’ recent trip to the zoo and what he liked best about the trip. He was fine with that and went back to his bed. He was back within what felt like minutes, pulling me out of sleep again. This time, he was ready to stay up. I told him to read. He went away. Then, he was hungry. I told him to get a banana. He went and ate a banana. Next time, his throat hurt. I told him to drink water. Then, he wanted to play with someone. I told him to turn on the TV. When he came again, he was ready to get dressed. Over the next several minutes, he literally put on one item at a time and then came to tell me he had done it. Swim trunks. Jeans. T-shirt. Socks. Shoes. I went in and out of sleep that many times. Finally, after the shoes, I lifted my head enough to check the time. 6:29 am. I heard Hubby sleeping soundly behind me. I told Jay I needed more sleep and asked him to go back downstairs. I couldn’t figure out why he was so needy, and at such an early hour.

A couple of hours later, after I had showered and was preparing to cook breakfast, he puked that banana all over his dad’s lap. Now, he’s laid up sipping Gatorade and watching cartoons.

I guess I should have put the cues together that he was sick. Apparently, mother’s intuition is not as foolproof as I thought.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: