My daughter has had a low grade fever for two nights. She hasn't been sleeping, which means I haven't been sleeping. Last night M tried to take over for awhile. She usually resists this, as no one but mommy will do -I try, but I just can't do it all. After lying in bed, hearing her scream for no reason, or so we though, while he tried to calm her, I drifted off for a little while. He later told me he paced with her like we did when she was an infant, until she calmed down. Then they sat on the couch. She sat on the opposite end, as if to say, "you are not the one I want" but as her muscles relaxed and she sunk into the couch and her eyelids drooped and grew heavy, she placed her head on his lap and crashed. He carried her to bed where she woke up about an hour later. My turn: When I went into to her room, her eyes were barely open. She was crying so pitifully, almost whimpering. I asked her what I could do for her, anything, baby, you name it. As if I truly believed she could tell me. She took my arm and hugged my forarm as if it could heal her somehow, and fell asleep with her head propped up on my arm. I sat still as long as I could, 30 minutes propped against the side of her bed, on my knees until my arm started to fall asleep and I was hallucinating from exhaustion. I oh, so, carefully lifted her head and put in on the pillow, held my breathe while she took a few irregular breaths until she resumed her regular deep sleep breathing where by I collapsed on her trundle bed.

So gently today for I ache. "Gray Day, I watch but nothing moves today." Today is a gentle day. The sun should not shine so brightly. People should not speak too loudly. And the makers of motrine should beg my baby girl for forgiveness for what it did to her. (And I beg for her forgiveness for having stupidly given it to her, believing it would help her fever ignoring her poor stomache.) The whipping continues.


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