My Favorite Part

Grass is a wonderful place to vomit. At least it’s not my couch? Parenthood makes you cheerful about the strangest things.

Fiona is sick. She has been sad, cranky, miserable sick. She had the flu a couple weeks ago and just hasn’t really kicked it. So, with the addition of puking to our misery checklist, I took her to the doctor.

I don’t know if it’s normal, but my kid LOVES the doctor. She wiggles with anticipation as the doctor checks her nose and ears and has the biggest grin on her face when her doctor listens to her heart and lungs. After the doctor moves the stethoscope she whispers happily, “That’s my favorite part!”

The doctor, says that she does indeed have an ear infection, and that she needs antibiotics. Now, 24 hours and three doses of Amoxicillin later, Fiona is not coughing. She’s not cranky. She is feeling better. And that’s my favorite part.

A good reason

Bedtime is often an adventure around these parts. Which is a vast improvement. A year ago, I would have said that bedtime was an unmitigated disaster every day. So, “often an adventure” is a step in the right direction.

The process of this has been painstaking, tedious, and gradual. We’re at a midway point between holding and snuggling and reassuring until sleep finally flattens us despite tears and theatrics, and a kiss and hug and walking out (the goal). This halfway point means that I sit in a chair next to her bed until she falls asleep, usually about 15 minutes.

The key word there is usually.

Last night it was closer to an hour. Despite the clear need for sleep, she just couldn’t seem to slow her mind down enough to fall asleep.
I spent 45 minutes of being asked questions in between suggesting, cajoling, and ordering her to sleep.

“What lived before people, but after dinosaurs?”
“Mammals, that were just starting to evolve and then got bigger and more complicated and birds. ”
“But which ones?”
“I think you’ll feel better if you get some sleep.”

“But Mommy, what if you did send me to school with a broken bone?”
“I wouldn’t do that. I am a good Mommy.”
“But what if you did?”
“Fiona, please go to sleep.”

“What if zombies were really real?”
“They aren’t”
“But what if they were”
“They aren’t”
“But what if they were?”
“THEN I would go to the butcher shop and buy cow brains!”
“But –”
“Go. To. Sleep.”

Finally, she rolls and on her side and says, “Mommy, will you scratch my back?”

Through slightly gritted teeth, I respond, “Give me one good reason that I should?”

She raises her little eyebrows, grins beguiling and says, “Because it itches.”

I scratched her back and after a few minutes, she was quiet and fell asleep. And, honestly, it’s a pretty good reason.