All of the kids have been sick this past week. Sean got the chicken pox to start us off. The others are, so far, pox free, but they have each developed a fever and a cough. These were short lived illnesses, gone after a day. But it hit Quentin hard. Last night he was so hot and so sick, that I was up with him a lot of the night. He wanted to do nothing but lay on my chest. His breathing was labored. I held him on the couch with a bottle of water, putting it into his mouth whenever I got the chance. He drank it without much energy. Finally, I, again, lifted the water to his mouth and he purported to drink it. Then, for the first time all night, he lifted his head. He reached his arms up. I was so relieved by this development that I lifted him to my face. Too late, I noticed his puffed out cheeks. He spit the entire mouthful of water down the front of my shirt and laughed. It was a weak laugh, but it was the sweetest noise I had ever heard. I didn’t even waste time gasping over the cold water making its way down my body. I squeezed that boy so tight. I knew he was going to be okay.
No comments:
Post a Comment