Fever

A couple of nights ago, my son seemed to come down with a fever, then get over it, in the space of about four hours. It could have been from teething, I suppose; whatever it was, Tylenol at midnight then a bottle of formula at 3 in the morning seemed to be just about all he needed to become a happy camper again. He slept from 3 until 8 am, uncharacteristically late, then was remarkably cheerful the entire day that followed.

For a brief period of time, however, I witnessed my son as a feverish and distressed little boy. I had a taste (just a taste) of the agony parents must go through when their child becomes seriously ill. And I hope, of course, that I never have to walk that plank for real.

But I can also see the benefits of mild illness, and not just for building up one's immune system. A few times when I was a young girl, I came down with a fever; I remember enjoying it, or at least, part of it. It seemed like my feet were impossibly distant from the rest of my body, or that I was half-floating toward the ceiling. I was sorry when the fever broke and the world righted itself again. I wanted to install myself in that fever for days.

I don't know how this memory will help me get through any sort of illness that my son experiences in the future. It probably won't help at all. I feel sort of firmly installed in the Mommy role, these days.