This morning Rowan woke up with a high fever, congestion and a body-racking cough. This little lady, who is normally just this little ball of furious excitement and zipping energy split her day between the couch and the bed, splayed out like a little rag doll someone carelessly left behind.
Most food was refused but we were able to push a good amount of water and juice and she was, of course, powerless to resist the Princess fruit snacks we baited her with. Rowan has never been knocked down this hard by the flu so we’re thinking this must be that lovely Swine variety that seems to be all the rage amongst the ill set these days. She’s normally the kid who might spike a fever for a few hours but already by the end of the day is unable to be contained by the confines of a couch or bed and is bopping around, not well exactly, but certainly not sick sick. Not the case this time, her first temp reading taken by her father The Old Fashioned Way put her in the 102 range and due to the unpleasant nature of The Old Fashioned Way, put her father in the car to get a thermometer that takes an accurate temp from the UPPER part of the body. And for the rest of the day she fluctuated between 101 and 104.
By noon, even the allure of picking out and watching various movies wore thin so I took the first shift cuddling in bed and reading to her between whatever short naps and rests her cough would allow. It’s so frustrating not being able to just Make Her Better. Aren’t I supposed to know some magic mothering formula to cure her? When she refused most things I tried to offer in the way of comfort, telling me she just wanted to lay there with me, I swear I would’ve chopped off one of my arms and given it to her in brightly colored wrapping if it would have helped.
Bill laid with Rowan this evening, reading her Little House on the Prairie so I could attend to Mister Yes I Have A Fever Too, But I Shall Not Let A Measley Fever Stop Me In My Plans To Dominate And Then Destroy The World HAHAHAHAHA, who was busy taking advantage of our accommodating nature by making doe eyes by the treat jar and making the most of our preoccupation with his sister, by taste testing as many markers from the super pack of 50 that he could. Judging from his hands and mouth green is his favorite by far.
While Bill was sitting with her he asked her if there was anything he could do for her and she said, “Well, can you use magic to make me feel better?” Always wanting to please the women in his life, Bill presented her with a cup of water and told her he had tried to put some magic in it. She gulped it down and after a pause, said plainly “It didn’t work, Daddy”. Magic fail.
In the end, it turns out Rowan did want that arm of mine, only still attached to my body and wrapped snugly around her. And I suppose that is the magical mom cure, just being there. Knowing that mama has an arsenal of comforts at her grasp, and more importantly, in her grasp.
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