Two nights ago I slept badly. The son kept wandering into our room at all hours of the night. I put him back to bed three times, then gave up and slept the rest of the night on the very small sofa in his room. I got up stiff, tired and irritable.
Last night, I had barely fallen asleep when the son started crying. I went to check on him and found he was hot to the touch. I undressed him, gave him some paracetamol, sponged him down and rooted around in the house for our thermometer. He was running a fever of 39.2, and that was after I had worked for 20 minutes on cooling him down!
I still get freaked out when the kids get sick, so I took him to the local hospital’s A&E department. The triage nurse measured his temperature (38.2), gave him some ibuprofen, then sent us to wait in the children’s waiting room.
About three hours passed.
The son’s normal temperature returned almost immediately, and with it came his usual upbeat personality. He spent the whole time doing anything energetic he could think of. He ran around, pushed his pushchair, played with the toys, pressed the buttons on the vending machine, climbed on and over the chairs and pushed me around in a wheelchair, all the time making loud and happy noises.
I spent the whole time trying not to fall asleep.
When we were called through, the Doctor took the son’s temperature (perfectly healthy), checked his ears and throat (perfectly healthy) and said that it was probably a virus and just ‘one of those things that children get’. We were sent home with some ibuprofen.
We arrived back at about 3:30am, and I collapsed into bed and fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, I was not awoken by the wife. She, sweetheart that she is, tiptoed around the house all morning. I was not awoken by the son, who is quite content if the TV is on. I was not awoken by the daughter, who is generally a quiet baby anyway.
What woke me up was the digging up of the road outside my bedroom window. There’s nothing like the sound of a pneumatic drill to shake away the cobwebs.
So, it’s 9:15pm, and I find myself once more sitting outside the son’s room waiting for him to go asleep. All that’s really on my mind is getting to bed myself, and the hope that the night will gift me with at least six solid hours of deep, uninterrupted, beautiful sleep.
I can draw a picture of your struggling as a parent. I did the same thing so many times when my children were young. But it seems it’s worth for it. When my daughter and I saw the video of ‘Noah’s picking tomatos and dance with Harriet”
It’s wonderful. You have a beautiful family! Even though there’s a hard time, being a parent is a blessing and wonderful thing..
Congraturation! You changed your home-page. I like your new home.
I wonder what lost rambler means. figuratively or literally?
Say hi to your wife! If she needs something here, ask me.bye-bye!!