(I’m listening to a song called “The Listening” by Lights, in one ear, and listening to our monitor in the other).

The text from the wife said, “Buckle up.  Our childcare provider says Littles is really sick. Headache, nose running, cough.  I’ll go get her.”

My response was, “Poor Littles.  Okay.  Crap.”

When our kids are sick, we refer to it as “The Sickness.”  We call it that, because Littles will say, “Daddy (or mommy), I have the thickness (sickness).”  It’s pretty cute, you know, except for the fact that she’s sick.  Sick kids don’t sleep very well, and in turn, we don’t sleep well. I already feel myself turning into a zombie.

Sick kids aren’t all bad, at least that’s what I think when my kids are sick.  When other kids are sick, I’m like, “Dude, Dustin Hoffman will have to roll in with the E-1101 before our kids can hang around them.” But Littles is pretty cute when she’s sick, you know, except for the fact she’s a walking snot factory that happily spreads slime all over the house.  Usually, she will want to watch cartoons or movies all day.  It’s a practice we don’t do on a regular basis, but when she has “the sickness,” we bend the rules a little.  Plus, she’s 3 years old.  She doesn’t cuddle much anymore, but when she’s sick, she could win a gold medal in cuddling.

As cute as Littles is during the day, that coin has another side.  It’s called the night.  The long dreaded night.  Littles goes to bed around 8pm.  We gave her medicine.  We gave her a cough drop.  We gave her chest rub.  We turned on her humidifier.  We put on her Elsa and Anna blanket.  She has her stuffed animals.  She went to sleep.   When you have a sleeping sick kid, you walk around the house like it’s a minefield; trying avoid every crack in the hardwood floor and every toy that was lying around, in fear of stepping on one and waking up “the sickness.”    The cat gets banished to the basement because the slightest meow can start the avalanche.  You sit on the couch staring at the monitor while holding your breath.  None of it matters.  You could walk around with pillows on your feet, but you’re still guaranteed a wake up before 10pm.  That happened tonight.  It wasn’t even a “momma?” or “daddy?”  It was just crying.  The miserable crying of a sick kid.  Poor Littles.

The wife is sleeping, so I’m on duty.  I walk into Little’s room and ask what’s wrong.  Crying.  I ask what she needs.  More crying.  I ask if she needs more blankets.  Crying.  I ask if she needs juice.  Crying.  I ask if she needs medicine. Crying.  I finally get her to blow her nose.  The crying stops!  I take everything out of her bed.  I get her a wedge pillow.  I give her a drink.  I put two blankets back on.  I tuck her in. I give her more rubs. Finally, I hear a yawn, and…sleep.  I tip-toe out of there like a soldier behind enemy lines.  Success!

I just hope she sleeps through the night, and I pray she doesn’t give “the sickness” to Tiny, but that’s like praying to win the lottery.  It’s one thing to have a sick kid, it goes to a whole other level with a sick baby.  Goodnight and good health…I hope.