My children really love their father. My 7-year-old unabashedly tells me, "I love Daddy the best. But I still love you." Nights that he works late cause some serious distress around here that is best soothed with special movies or desserts.
But in the middle of the night when someone has wet the bed, had a bad dream or is sick, it's only Mommy that will do. Last night it was the 5-year-old and while Daddy slept I got up to find the medicine and administer it. Then I climbed into her twin-sized bed in an attempt to comfort her and get us both back to sleep. Here are the thoughts I had while laying there:
1. Oh my god, is she having a febrile seizure? Why is shaking like that? Wait, she didn't even have a fever, just a cough and a sore throat. What is she doing? Oh, I see. She's trying to master making the fart noise with her armpit. Of course. Carry on.
2. Did I fill that dosage cup correctly? I've got to remember to prefill those things before bed when I know someone isn't feeling well. Maybe I should invent a glow in the dark dosage cup! I could go on Shark Tank! Stop thinking. Go to sleep.
3. When am I going to be able to get a nap later since I clearly can't fall back to sleep now and am going to be miserable?
4. I'm pretty sure she just tweaked my nipple. She is, by far, our weirdest child.
5. Damn it, who is coughing now? Hope they don't go look for me in my bed.
6. I wonder if I can figure out what toys those are in her bed just by feeling them with my toes . . .
7. I finally drifted off and started to dream that one of Marge Simpson's heavy smoker sisters was talking to me before realizing it was my sore-throated kindergartener asking for water.
8. I guess I should give a head's up to that Mom whose kid we had a play date with yesterday.
9. Who's your favorite parent now, huh? Oh wait. Daddy is still sleeping comfortably in his own bed. I guess I lose that one. Again.
10. Shit. My throat hurts.