Abby's fever is hovering between 101.7 and 103.5. I've already texted a trusted mom friend asking which number do we hit before DEFCON ice cube bath. We agreed 104 is the number. 104.5 is grabbing car keys and screaming directives to the dog sitter.
My Ninjas (in-laws) are here visiting and I have no idea how to keep an arsenal of preschool germs from entering their immune system. I'm protecting mine well with gin from a second Tom Collins.
There's a fan Andy brought in to our room (sickbay) that is both keeping Abby cool and me hard of hearing. This white noise brings me back to teenage years. My brother, Eric, sleeping in 'til noon after a late night at the restaurant. It was never less than 64 degrees near his bed so I'd curl up on the futon, snuggling close the afghan with diamond holes in it. Sometimes I'd get in a whole episode of Saved By the Bell before he ever stirred. Then his feet would wiggle Hello.
Sadie's on high alert with Abby's fever. She stays close by which is typical when things go awry in our house. As if her presence alone will bring strength to some invisible structure only she sees adding up. She's right. Love molecules do accrue when she's near.
She's a walking shield of healing.
Lately, I've wanted to sit with time instead of curse its passing. There's no sure-fire way but stillness comes close to damming the steady flow of minutes.
Abby's calling for me, calling for "Mama" and when I'm with her she thanks me so profusely it's bordering on hallucinations. "You're the best, Mama. Please no more wet cloths on my shoulders, it's so, so hot. Thank you for taking good care of me, Mama. Will it hurt when all these colors break? What did you say, Mama?"
Nothing, Baby. Close your eyes and try to sleep. The fever calms when you are resting.