Our house has been hit. With the two youngest down and out it's lucky we have an older, more experienced gentleman to take good care of us. He's been doing such lovely niceties such as fixing me soup. And bringing a trash bag over for my growing mountain of dampened tissues. And doing all sorts of things for the baby since he valiantly battles his sickness and marches on, unlike his couch potato mother who smothers herself with blankets.
All I'm trying to say here is glory hallelujah for that husband of mine. He's taken care of us with nothing but a smile.
Eight months in and this is the first time we've had a sick boy on our hands. And what a sweet sicky he is. Declan is a well-adjusted, happy baby, but a cuddler he is not. So when he chose to lay his rosy cheek on my shoulder Sunday, we knew something was up. When we realized he wasn't even attempting glances at the numerous televisions all around, the decision was made to head on home. Since then we've been wallowing in couch cuddles, books, wavering fevers, and ibuprofen. Add a splash of naps, and the heavenly exersaucer for entertainment, and you're a fly on the Murray house wall.
I'm certainly not complaining.
I got to feel the weight of my baby uncharacteristically relaxed on my chest, something that took me immediately back to the newborn days. I got to cuddle next to him as we napped on the couch, trying my darndest not to drool on his fuzzy little noggin. I got to be a mama, to comfort and kiss and hug and snuggle. And while I might have enjoyed it a bit more had I been sans snot, I'm glad I was forced to lie down and soak in the rare pause of my child's ever-evolving self.
{Linking to Just Write 67}
LIVE THE MURRAYED LIFE
My daughter used to be the same way - only snuggled when she wasn't feeling well. I hated to see her feeling sick but I loved the snuggle.
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