Baby L has been sick this week. Last night, he woke up with a fever of 103. We gave him tylenol and a lukewarm bath, then bundled him off to bed once his temperature was close to normal. This morning, his fever is lower but he crawls around despondently, collapsing onto anything soft for an impromptu nap, or sits in the middle of the floor with his arms raised, crying for me to hold him.
I feel like doing the same.
I'm sad. Since I'm used to fighting depression, part of me wants to get rid of this feeling by any means possible, afraid that it will snowball and rob me of all will to function. But I'm not depressed, I'm just sad, and for good reason. I think I need time to mull over events, process my emotions, and let it run it's course. It's simply providential that baby L requires a quiet day as well, allowing me to hunker down in a warm quilt and watch daily routines crumble to pieces around me.
We're taking a sick day, he and I.