as in Sicky D. . .
Both my boys down with something sniffly. . . and a bit crabby. . . all right. . . maybe more than a bit. . .
Luke does not sleep well with the stuffies. . . or be awake well. . . or play well. . . or go shopping well. . .
He awoke from his sicky D-induced, all-too-short nappy with a mourneful wail. . . one of those that put those banshees to shame. . . Hoping that I could console him, I went to the couch to hold him and stroke his cheek. . . Only to be greeted with naaaa......I waaannnn'. . .
You want what?
IIIIIiiiiiieeeeeee waaaannnnn'. . . .
And on and on. . . And in my mama brain, I knew what he wanted. . .
Walking from the couch, I heard the escalating screams behind me. . . I walked up the stairs to measure out one teaspoon of purpley sweet Tylenol cold. . .
And returned to nooooaaaaa. . . I doooaaannn' waaannnnn'. . . .
But this will help you feel better.
I no waaannn' feel better. . . . I waaannn' cwwwwyyyyy. . . .
And seconds later he smiles. And I can stroke his cheek while he closes his eyes on his favorite couch. Listening to murmurs of Little Bill.
I wan' feel better. He smiles.