Something's Cooking

So yesterday, my kid was sick and I was worried and the medicine wasn't working and he wasn't sleeping and kept getting up and nearly crying about his throat hurting. No fever. That was the only good news. So finally around 11pm (2 hours after his usual bedtime) he settles in for the night and me too, but I'm not convinced we're in for a good night's sleep -- or any sleep.

But we sleep -- I know that because at 4:00am he comes into my room -- waking me from a dead sleep, complaining about his throat again, and he's hungry and he wants this and and and and and ... I'm nearly comatose during this flood of desires coming at me.

I was trying to explain the relentlessness of the responsibility of having kids to someone with no kids the other day. I hope he's reading this.

I am so tired. I get up fast like a mom can do -- or a doctor on call -- an out-of-body-type experience -- and follow him back into his room. If he starts trying to pile into my bed and sneezing all over my sheets and pillows, I'm a goner.

In his room I'm trying to get him to drink some tea and then I have that "got up too fast" faint headedness and I have to lie down suddenly. This is gonna be a long day.

But WEIRDLY, by 5:30am, after tea and cough drops, he's much better and by 6:30am after scrambled eggs and a yogurt drink, he's really good. By 7:30 he wants to drag out his Real Meal Oven and bake up some pizza and pretzels. Christ -- I'm thrilled for him, I want nothing more than to see him well -- but THIS WELL?! Suddenly it's time for cooking school?!

And so it goes -- he's ready to go go go -- and I'm a complete zombie. This business of one generation bringing the other one into the world works like a charm, I figure, especially the part where the younger ones just about destroy the older ones most mornings. It's brilliant.