Poor Grayson came home sick from SPARK yesterday. Gray said he was asleep when he came to pick him up at 5:30, which was a red flag in and of itself. So Gray woke him to go home and though he said he felt okay, he threw up all down the stairs on the way out. Poor baby.
He was sick all last night, and we both slept poorly, him because he didn't feel well and me because he was sleeping in our bed and every time he stirred I was afraid he was going to throw up. Then at about 5 he was up and feverish, complaining that he couldn't sleep.
Now when Grayson can't sleep, nobody can sleep. He rolled this way. He rolled that way. He tried sleeping on TOP of me. He turned sideways, curled in a ball, stretched out, turned upside down, and finally sat up in defeat. So I got up and took him back to his own bed with a story on cd to listen to. I went back to bed.
At 6:30 I heard him crying and went back in. He said he still couldn't sleep AND his story was over, so I crawled in next to him, (he was now running a roasting fever) and we both slept until 8:30.
So much for my little valentine. Gray's home with him today and tells me on the phone that he's gone back to sleep. Still feverish, but in good spirits today. He was very disappointed to be missing the valentine party at school. So I told him we could have one of our own at home when he is better. He said "At school they make hats." So I guess we'll make valentine hats.
I love that little kid. I hate when he is feeling bad. Last night I sat on the couch and just held him in my lap... all long lanky 50 inches of him, bony butt and all, and just rocked and patted him like my baby. I remember holding him when he was a baby and sick. The hot red spots on his cheeks he would get when he wasn't feeling well. How I could cradle him on one arm and pat his fat, diapered little bottom. I could not imagine then what he would grow into in seven years. Now I smooth his hair from his hot little forehead and try to imagine him at 15, 17, 20. Not my baby. Still my baby.
Always my baby.
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