Miles’s holiday weekend was unfortunately marred last night when, after growing increasingly cranky during the evening, he became lethargic and developed a fever. After we brought him home from dinner and laid him down in bed, I asked him if he needed medicine. He nodded in a way that was so pathetic it split my heart in half.
I ran out to pick up some infant Tylenol for him and, accepting the fact that he was going to be sleeping in the bed rather than the Pack ‘n’ Play my parents had prepared for him, I settled in for a long night on the living room couch. I actually slept well until around two in the morning, when Jaclyn woke me up and said, “Miles wants you to come to bed.”
I was only about 30-40% sure Miles actually wanted me to come to bed, but I still complied, entering the bedroom to find a child who was at least smiling again. I climbed into bed, sandwiching Miles between the two of us, and we just stared at each other, grinning. It was pretty sweet.
Of course, minutes later Miles started contorting and kicking in attempts to get comfortable, leading me to issue an ultimatum: either he lies still or I was going to have to leave. “Do you want me to leave?” I asked. He nodded and clicked his tongue.
And with that, I staggered back out to the living room. I knew he didn’t honestly want me in that bed, but at least he was feeling better. By the next morning, he was mostly back to his playful self.