Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Dear Babies,

If there’s one thing that’s consistent, it’s that each day presents itself as an unknown.

There I was in bed this morning, grappling with my efforts to get up, with so many questions whizzing through my head.

“Is he sick? Did he pick something up?” Late yesterday afternoon you threw up, Baby Boy. You chugged your apple juice cocktail, one part juice, three parts water (You: “The drinks are so watered down around here!”), then you vomited like a frat boy doing funnels (to support Paula Abdul’s defense of college as an investment, you learn such social skill!). I took your temperature, it was a little high. I gave you Advil and watched you like a gorilla at the zoo, you were fine. Eating and playing. I don’t know.

Then I started not to feel well. Achy. My throat. Am I sick, too? Is there truth to the adage “never take a healthy kid to the doctor?” We were both just there for a check-up. Did we both get something?

My mind wandered to all of the “gross kid things” you’d done recently. You were around all of those kids at the birthday party. You touched all of those rides at the fair. And there’s that little thing called the planet that we all roam around on, touching everything, breathing, sneezing, the horror.  Maybe you ate something at the playground–mmm, a random bottle cap!–maybe curiosity killed the cat, or at least gave it a virus.

“Is he sick?” I wondered…

“Am I sick?”

What do we have going on today? What’s the weather like?  What are we going to do?

Didn’t I have to do something? 

Isn’t there something I needed to do? 

What is it?

Is today Wednesday?

Is So You Think You Can Dance on tonight? Is that over?

When does Homeland start?

It was time to move. I smelled my coffee brewing. The baby monitor was silent. I glanced over at it.

Wait a minute. 

I blinked, as if to focus my eyes into view.

There you both were in one crib. You’d climbed in with your sister, Baby Boy. When? Why? 

More questions as I watched at you two sleep side by side, like two shrimp on the barbie.

Love,

Mom

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