Poor, sick, puking boy

Henry was sick all weekend.

It started Friday with goop in his right eye. I called the advice line at the pediatrician's office (I'm actually surprised they haven't blocked my number yet), and the nurse said it was probably related to the small cold he had going, and to call back if it hadn't cleared up in two to three days, which is pretty much what they say about everything.

Then Friday night the vomit started. The first vomit is always the ripest and chunkiest and this was all over the crib and also in his hair and his ear. We had to give him a bath, which made me feel like a particularly bad mother, because there he was, sick, sad, and confused as to why his parents were torturing him in his hour of need.

He puked again that night while Simon skillfully held him over the toilet. And then again Saturday morning, after he seemed better and ate breakfast, over the side of the grocery cart when Simon took him to the Safeway.

Let me just take a moment to express how very, very happy I am that I wasn't there. That was some sort of divine gift.

**Here's a disturbing note: Simon returned to the Safeway about 45 minutes later, after both he and Henry were bathed and changed. When he got there, both his cart and the vomit were just as he had left them.**

Sunday he didn't throw up even once. Today he didn't even have a fever. He was just tired and weepy and wanting to sit on my lap reading books all day, which was exhausting but adorable.

I didn't appreciate how independent Henry is until this past weekend. Usually I can read the paper and have a cup of coffee while keeps busy moving the contents of my purse into the garbage can and vice versa. This weekend it was all about constant Mommy attention.

You know what's funny? I haven't felt this not depressed in weeks. I feel on purpose. So many times I wonder if Henry even cares that I'm around, particularly when he asks 50 times a day where Grandma is, or Auntie Mo is, or Jeff Walsh, my dad's friend who he met once. But when he was sick, all he wanted was Mommy. Even with a 104.5 degree fever, sitting with me (and his lovey and binky) seemed to make him feel better.

Not a lot of appreciation in this job. It's nice to feel like I'm doing something right.

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Tonight I had to talk to my mom and explain several times that sometimes I need a break from her, and that when I do, I am not "punishing" her by withholding Henry. Gah.