Belly Aches, Sniffles and Lullabies

On Wednesday night/Thursday morning, we weathered one of the toughest "storms" so far this season.  He was on day three of a pretty mean head cold so we gave Michael a little bedtime "tasting" of Motrin and tucked him in for the night. We knew we'd hear from him at least a few times - he typically needs an adjustment or two if he has rolled over and inadvertently spit out his binky.  But as it turns out, it wasn't Michael who gave us a shout out.

Chris heard it first - around 2:30 AM.  What we thought was initially just a cough, turned out to be coughing in the middle of throwing up.  Poor Maeve was sitting up in her bed staring at the floor and the mess she had made, crying for someone's help.  Chris rushed her into the bathroom and rubbed her back as he re-introduced her to the potty from a new perspective.

In all, Maeve must have visited the bathroom 10-12 times that night/morning with Chris and I taking turns on each shift.  Of course, 2 or 3 of those visits were "false alarms" and during one of them, I had the pleasure of sitting with her as she bent over the potty, utterly exhausted from the evening's events.  Once she realized nothing was happening, she turned to me and said, "Mom? I'll take care of this tomorrow."

It was painful to watch our little one endure her illness and it was difficult to try to explain to her what was happening in a way in which she would understand.  She looked up at me with tears rolling down her face and said "Mom, I don't want to do this anymore."  How do you explain to a 3 year old, that what her body was doing was actually a good thing?  Anyway, I'd say things were looking up for her at about 6:00 PM Thursday evening.

Thursday night, we were all in bed by 9:30 PM.  We were physically exhausted from the previous day's events and had our fingers crossed that everyone got a good night's sleep - especially Maeve.  Some time in the middle of the night, our little boy began whimpering. Probably a result of not being able to breathe out of his plugged up nostrils, but Chris and I will never know.  Because before either one of us could muster the energy to get out of bed to answer his call, we heard Maeve very softly singing from her bed, the one song that can instantly sooth Michael no matter what has upset him: Michael Row the Boat Ashore.  In the dark of night, she sang to her brother, from beginning to end and right on pitch.  And that was the last we heard from either one of them until day break.

Hallelujah.