Fever Breaks

I spend an incredible amount of time with the little man. It only gets more spectacular too.

Though tonight was an exception. He was sick, his head and stomach hot as a flat iron. We couldn't have you in the same bed/co-sleeper as your sister so we both stayed downstairs and pulled out the couch. Like parents are when their children have fever, we are just as delirious and dizzy as you are. I'm on my ready-to-rush-to-the-hospital status. But we manage, nevertheless. You take your meds. You pee on my white long-sleeved shirt, throw up on me and on our floors, and I clean up your sick. I mop the floors, do the laundry, the dishes, and get myself a drink. I do more laundry when you sleep, more floor mopping when you are asleep. When you wake up at 3 am, slightly recovered, you ask me to tell you more stories about our SP heroes. You ask if we can play spotify. You request for David Bowie. We sing along. Tell you more stories. You even play some online games. I told you, when you grow up, you wouldn't even want to hang out with me anymore. But six-year-olds are the coolest people to ever hang out with.

It's Friday night. I'm taking care of my little man, wiping up his sick, drinking vodka and orange, listening to your choice of music.

A few days back, you told me in a whisper: when I grow up, I"m going to drink coffee with you.

When I thought It Couldn't Get More Spectacular

It feels like courting your mom over all again.Your crying and giggling were like the flashes of a relationship’s confrontations and reconciliations. How you learned. How you blossomed. In a few months time, you learned to laugh, you learned to giggle, gained head control, and just a couple of nights ago you roll from tummy to tummy. Maybe I was too assuming and confident when I said that we’ll be even better parents, investing all of our time. Maybe we are. In the best possible way, everything feels like it’s happening for the first time, as if we had no foreknowledge of things to come. Everything I know dissolves in the pure, innocent glare of your eyes. There’s much more to this world, you seem to say. It’s a lot more spectacular than you think, Dad.

It's been the best five months of our lives, V.