Kids are amazingly resilient. Bubba is nearly back to his old self after spending yesterday curled into the fetal position beneath his favorite blanket. I am relieved. I can handle vocal, cantankerous sick children, but it's when they're quiet that I begin to worry because when my children are quiet, it usually means they're doing or eating something that will necessitate a trip to the emergency room or, at the very least, make me completely lose my shit.
And Bubba was quiet the whole day. He wouldn't eat the chicken soup I made. He wouldn't drink his cranberry juice "with ice, mama." And the house just felt different without all that toddler energy. But, his silence wasn't scary. He wasn't shoving Legos up his nose or eating glue. He was sleeping and healing. Gathering his strength.
Today, he's "not sick anymore" or so he said when I refused to share my cereal with him. Like I'm falling for that trick even if he is cuddly and adorable. It's just a clever ruse. The next thing you know, the back of my throat will start to itch, my ears will close up and I'll be one sick Lawschoolmom - that's not a chance I'm willing to take with finals looming around the corner.