Last week, at about the midway mark in my 2 week illness (stomach virus followed by the flu), the girl got sick.
She had been cranky for a few days, not sleeping at night and complaining about her eye. I thought it just had to do with the time change. Turns out, I’m just a shit-ass mother.
By the time I got her to a clinic, she had a low-grade fever and an ear infection. 2 days at home, 7 days on antibiotics. Taking the time off work wasn’t a problem. I was home already, busy being sick with the flu, but it did mean that I wasn’t going to get the rest I’d anticipated.
And to be honest, I was dreading having her home with me. Him I can deal with. He’s always been pretty self-sufficient, but her? Oh my g-d what a time and energy suck that girl can be. She’s so intense.
But in the end, she surprised me. I had a great time with her, and I’m glad I have the memory of those days.
The first day home was a write-off. We were at the clinic until noon, and by the time we ate lunch we were both exhausted and spent. Let’s just say the clinic wasn’t easy.
It got so rough that at one point I put my jacket on the floor and slid it under her head to prevent anything serious from happening during her full-out tantrum.
By naptime, I didn’t have the energy to listen to her cry and then fetch her 34 minutes later when her nap ended. So I brought her into bed with me. And did she ever sleep. Blissfully. For 3 hours.
The next day, after my husband and son left for school, the girl looked up at me. She was obviously feeling remarkably better, her fever vanished and the antibiotics working their magic.
“Daddy?” she asked.
“Daddy’s gone.”
“Gagi?”
That’s her word for her brother.
Don’t look at me, I have no idea.
“He’s gone, too. Daddy took him to school.”
“Me, too!“
“No, you’re staying home today. With me.”
Woo-boy! In case I thought the clinic’s temper tantrum was a doozie, she felt the need to show me she could outdo herself.
“ME, TOO! ME, TOO!”
It took her a good long while to calm down, but then she looked at me and said, “Cars?”
So I popped in Cars, her brother’s favourite movie. And I thought it was kind of cute, that she wanted to like what he liked. But then, about 15 minutes into the movie, she got up and went upstairs.
She walked into his room and went right for the off-limit toys – the ones along the safety-railing on his bed. My son is very particular about those toys, and won’t go to bed at night until everything is lined up “propally.”
But she realized he was gone, and recognized that this was her chance. I followed her around the house in wonder as she systematically touched, played with and re-arranged everything in his room that was usually considered untouchable.
Oh, it was just a Happy Meal Bakugan and Fun-Tak heaven.
Don’t get me wrong, my son is very good about sharing his stuff. Especially with his sister, who is far from generous with her own toys… or those of his that she manages to swipe.
When she was done, when she’d played with all the contraband to her satisfaction, she walked into the bathroom and pointed to his beloved doggie bathrobe.
“Me!” she commanded.
I smiled and passed her the robe. She tried to get it on, finally relented and let me help. She was hysterical. She pranced around in that thing, watched herself in the mirror and came to me to scratch her behind the ears, like she’d seen her brother do a thousand times before.
And when she was done with that, we crawled into my bed for another epic nap. And as she crawled all over me, settling into that sprawl that left her head tucked into my neck and her torso strapped across my chest, I couldn’t help but think -
This is one smart cookie.


