HardWorker comes down from putting BoyGenius to bed with a fearful look in her eyes. “He wants you to go up. He says his stomach hurts and he feels like he might throw up.”
I go up, give him a small glass of ginger ale and a Gravol and ask him if it just feels queasy. He says yes. I lay down beside him and he curls up on his side and closes his eyes. I remind him to breathe evenly, to not try too hard to take deep breaths. He nods, eyes still closed. Pretty soon he starts the little involuntary twitches that let me know he’s very close to deep sleep. I caress his brow and when my hand comes back damp, I know for sure. (His temperature rises by what seems like 10 degrees within seconds of his falling asleep; has done so since he was a baby.)
I wait a couple of minutes more, until I see him, his eyes still closed*, breathing in that “I’m asleep” pattern that a parent learns to recognize, pull the duvet down, pull his legs out from under it, stretch first one leg up into the air then the other to tug his pyjama pants back into place, then cross his right leg over the left at the knee, but finding no purchase give up on that subconscious attempt and roll over facing away from me.
I come back downstairs and HardWorker nervously asks, “How is he?”
“Asleep,” I answer while she shakes her head in awe of the power of the Mama.
*On occasion BoyGenius will sleep with his eyes somewhat open. Just a little slit at the bottom of his lids, but still. It freaks me out every time. When my brother was deathly ill his eyes could no longer close all the way when he slept and that freaked me out, too. It’s a very weird feeling when someone who is in a deep sleep is looking at you.