Monday did not start well. I woke to Felix covered in vomit and feeling like a horrible mother for not hearing his cries till 6:30 am. I died a little when I went into his nursery and saw the tragic scene. Crying while Josh stripped the sheets from his bed I stripped my precious babe and drew up a warm shower for the two of us to rinse off.
Showers with Felix are my favorite. We normally only take them together when he isn't feeling well, but no matter when we get to take them he is always clings and snuggles close. Hooking his arm around my bicep and resting his head on my shoulder I let the stream of water spray his back. He looked up at me and sheepishly smiles. Showers are a treat.
Droplets form on the red fuzz covering head and long blonde eye lashes stick together with moisture. Silky baby skin pressed up against my soft squishy body. His hand playing carelessly with my hair, his necklace, the water, my breast. Humming and glancing up to lock eyes periodically. As I alternated our turns under the comforting warm stream.
The sickness manifested as diarrhea for four days. Mostly without much cause for panic and going about our usual routine. But, by the 4th day, he hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours and his stomach was obviously cramping to rid his body of the virus. He spent the morning screaming and writhing in pain.
We saw the doctor and she said it should pass on it's own in a few days but to call if things worsen. I cried again watching my little love in so much pain. Throwing himself to the ground in confusion and anguish. Nothing I did could help. Hugs, nursing, books, toys. Nothing.
It was horrible.
That afternoon he was so exhausted from the painful morning that we just laid in bed next to each other. Belly to belly. Him quietly crying but starring intensely in my eyes looking for answers or relief. I did the only thing I could think to do. Sing.
"Rain Drops on Roses" and "Do a Deer"....over and over again. Not sure why sound of Music was our soundtrack that afternoon, but I watched as his piercing stare turned into slow blinks and finally, much needed rest.
Those three moments - the shower, the pain, the rest - are engrained in my memory. Flashbulb memories if you will. In an instant I can close my eyes and feel the weight of my child on my hip in the shower. My heart breaks even when my minds eye sees him wander in confusion and agony and it melts when the afternoon sun pours across my bed and his cries turn to slow steady breath and sleep to the sound of music.
Funny, these moments. I didn't choose them. They were very much a part of normal life. Ordinary, yet poignant. It's strange to think that our everyday can stick with us for eternity.