Okay, maybe that’s a touch dramatic, but right now it feels appropriate. You see, I had an experience two nights ago that all parents dread. I was awakened in the middle of the night to find my 5-year-old standing beside my bed, his face mere inches from mine in the darkness.
By the time my eyes fluttered open, he was already in an audible panic which only served to further escalate my alarm at being awakened by a shadowy figure by my bedside. As it turned out, crisis mode was warranted for the both of us.
“Mom, I can’t stop burping. It’s scary. Make it quit.”
I sat up, prepared to scold him for waking me up in the middle of the night to ask me to work magic on his bodily functions and that’s when it happened. Anders tossed his cookies. I wish I were talking about actual cookies here because if I were, the brand new, canary yellow jacket I splurged on at the mall recently that happened to be hanging on my bedpost at the time wouldn’t need to be dry cleaned right now.
No, these cookies were already enjoyed cookies and they were making a comeback along with the dinner that preceded their earlier-in-the-evening-consumption. I scooped him up and ran to the bathroom where I spent the next hour explaining to him that, unfortunately, I could not make “the burps” stop, but he was going to be just fine. I’m not sure who needed the reassurance more: me or Anders.
And now we wait. Each of us is a ticking time bomb. We are all potentially gestating this evil virus that has taken my 5-year-old out for two days and we could ‘go off’ at any moment. In the mean time I’m clipping stain remover coupons and strategically positioning buckets about the house.
Wish me luck.