Emerson had the flu last week. When she spiked a fever on Wednesday I pretty much knew our fate since she’d been exposed on Monday, so I immediately scooped her out of the house for a flu test. While she sat on my lap in the waiting room, crying to go home, she complained about how her eyeballs felt like they were fire.
My alarm went off for the first time at 4:30 this morning. The room was still dark, fans blowing every direction to keep the bedroom cool since our big old house is sadly want of central air. My husband slipped out of bed, reappearing briefly a bit later smelling of toothpaste and freshly applied deodorant to plant a kiss and whisper “I love you, baby” before he was off, still long before dawn. A couple of hours later I woke again to the sounds of a little voice calling for mommy through the baby monitor. I roused the dog who had climbed into her father’s spot on the bed shortly after he left it, and walked into the room next door to fetch a snuggly toddler still encased in blankets. And so, the day began.