12 AM: Tessa wanders out of her
room for the 4th time, sick to her tummy, feeling like she may give us
a dramatic re-enactment of dinner-in-reverse.
Also, she had the sniffles.
"Baby, what are you doing?"
"I need to find a quiet place to say a sweet little prayer so to make me
not be anymore sick, but you keep making all that noise."
(I wish I can hear her words, but from the hall I can only hear her tiny voice
murmuring as she kneels beside her bed negotiating
with the Great Almighty for her health).
12:15 AM: Tessa is on the toilet crying.
"I am just not ready!"
"For what, baby?"
"I think I am just not ready to be very sick."
12:17 AM: She does the dry-heave fake-out,
her expression, one of shock that her body has betrayed her.
"My heart is like a drum, like someone is beating it hard."
12:30 AM, after a battle over taking some medicine
("But what if it taste-is nasty?"), she compromises and allows me to give her some homeopathic remedies. Her legs have fallen asleep
from being on the pot so long.
"Do you feel better?"
"Well, I don't feel great-great, because it feels like
it's getting my foot squished because it's asleep."
At least something is getting some sleep around here.