The past two to three days mark the first time that FBC's been properly sick. The poor thing was likely to have caught the virus I just recovered from, seeing as he's going through the same stages of sickness that I was. Thankfully, it seems he's at the last stages of it; unfortunately, this is also when it's the most uncomfortable, being marked by hacking coughs, and as he is but a baby, he can't get rid of the mucous as effectively.
I am currently home alone with him; he is sleeping and I am watching Bake With Anna Olson and trying to decide if it'll be worth my while to stay up to watch Cheongdamdong Scandal, which starts at 10.15pm. Jon's gone for a gathering alone, as we decided after FBC's afternoon nap that although the Iliadin had done some good in getting rid of the mucous, he needed to rest.
I think this is the most maternal I've felt and been since I became a mother: not minding when I'm woken up at an unearthly hour, finding it in me to speak gently and patiently to a crying child at said unearthly hour, carrying said crying child at said unearthly hour and rocking him to sleep - you must understand that having been spoiled by nights and nights of FBC sleeping through, more often than not, I've greeted his unearthly hour cries with yells of frustration and smacks on his bedroom door, in a bid to get him to stop yowling. I AM GETTING YOUR MILK STOP IT NOW.
There's something about hugging a small, wriggling person close to you in the dark when no one else is awake or around, snuggling into the plumpness of his cheeks and feeling the warmth of his body, which relaxes as some of his distress dissipates. Before you know it, your t-shirt is covered in milk vomit, tears, snot and drool, and you're struck, suddenly, with the realisation that this is a moment to be treasured. Against your better wishes, your mind fills with all manner of cliches about how your baby won't need you forever, yada yada yada, but you decide that you won't feel ashamed of yourself for it or for the fact that you will later go on to write about that moment in cliches. So you immerse yourself in it, feel an ever so slight prickling of tears at the back of your eyes, breathe in your child's wonderful baby scent, sing him softly to sleep, and thank God that He has blessed you with the privilege of being a mother.
What a joy it is, to love a child; to be able to comfort him in the fragility and helplessness of his babyhood.
