The Little Mister has been sick. He woke up with the start of a terrible gastro bug 11 days ago, and he’s not been able to shake it. He doesn’t want to eat, has a virus that has given him a sore throat, and keeps getting a rash and a temperature. He’s not himself, my poor little mister.
We spent Sunday afternoon at the after hours clinic getting his rash checked out. He is ok, though, and I know he will get better. Still, seeing him ill makes me so sad.
While we’re all a little down while he is sick, there are some things I’m trying to make the most of.
I’m savouring every time he falls asleep in my arms like he used to when he was small.
I’m relishing holding him close to me during all the extra hugs he asks for now he is sick.
I’m marvelling at how he can, in fact, lie still. While he does it, in front of the tv and feeling sorry for himself, I try and commit to memory the sight of a little boy who is growing up too fast.
But while he is not himself, I also miss so much about him.
I miss him demanding we pose for selfies with my iPhone at least twice a day.
In fact, I miss him running full stop. At home, in the park, down the street - the little mister usually runs all day. He tells me he is doing it too – except he can’t quite pronounce his letter Rs. “I am sunning”, he usually says again and again and again.
I miss him smiling. A world without the little mister smiling doesn’t feel right. And a world where I don’t hear him laugh is too quiet.
I miss him asking to go out to play in the park or the garden a million times a day.
I miss him running from swing to slide, asking to be pushed higher or wanting to jump from the top of the climbing frame.
I miss him talking incessantly, and trying out new words.
I miss him asking for biscuits and crackers all day.
(No I don’t.)
I do wish though that the little mister would come back to me as he was, and get well soon.
So do his little friends, who have been watching over him as he has lain, curled up on the floor, watching CBeebies.