Sick again

Last night, as I wrapped up my homework, I realized Gavin was crying upstairs. I ran to find his little body burning with fever, his nose completely stuffed up. I carried him downstairs, wiping his tears and nose, and cuddled up by the light of the Christmas tree in front of a cozy movie with him until he had calmed down enough to breathe effectively. Several hours later, in bed, he panicked again, unable to breathe. Mike had climbed into bed only moments earlier, home from work late. We dosed the boy with cold medicine and I rocked him to sleep, running my fingers through his hair and feeling his hand stroke softly at my arm as his eyes dropped closed. I remember the feeling of relief and safety, sick in my mother's arms as a child, and it's a warm feeling to know I can give the same to Gavin.

My mother, piggybacking on my diet in the same way she piggybacked on my pregnancy weight gain, has lost 30 lbs and (coincidentally?) finds herself this morning on a brunch date with a fellow she's quietly had a crush on for years. A fellow with a motorcycle, direct gaze, and reckless sense of humor. I hope she has better luck with him.