Frances Friday: Frances is the best medicine

Another, unextolled advantage to the NEW AND IMPROVED Spring! we're all loving this year, and its immune system challenge, is this great cold I've got right now. It's in the phlegm-factory stage (not that this will stop me from enjoying the nice weather we're finally getting).

Monday was my compressed day with Frances, and given the cold, rain, and cold (two colds in one!), it wasn't the greatest ever. We had a Pyjama Day. No one got dressed. That was the highlight. Frances wanted to do more exciting things, like chase! and fly the Baby Owl all around the house, but Mummy was only able to sit up on the couch and prop her eyes open with toothpicks. I managed to smile and croak out the occasional, "Wow, look at Baby Owl fly! She's really been practicing, hasn't she?"

I even took a nap while she was napping. The last time that happened, Frances was maybe two months old.

By 8:00 I was for all practical purposes unconscious. My eyes were open, and I was ambulatory, but this was merely a clever guise for getting my wee girl tucked into bed, at which point I collapsed in my own and pulled the blankets up to my chin. I turned out the lights. Bliss. Deeply medicated bliss.

I heard the door rattle; then saw four tiny fingers wrapped around the edge, then a slice of blond hair, then a forehead, then two blue eyes.

"Is that a Frances?"

She walked into the room. "I just wanted to snuggle with the baby mole."

"Ok. Come on up, we'll have a quick snuggle."

She clambered up with Baby Owl and we snuggled under the blankies for a few minutes, then I sent her back to bed. I fidgeted, read for a few minutes, then settled myself down again. Shortly, I heard the door rattle. Then the four tiny fingers, slice of hair, forehead, and face. "Is that another Frances?"

She walked in. "I just wanted to visit."

I sighed. "Frances, Mummy is sick. I really need to sleep. We can snuggle again, but then you have to go back to your bed and stay there."

"OK, Mummy." Up she climbed, and we snuggled under the blankies again. "Are you sick?"

"Yes, I am. I have an owwie in my throat."

"Can I kiss it better?"

"Oh, sweetie. That is so nice of you. But no, I just have to take medicine and get some sleep, and it will go away in a few days."

"Your baby mole can make it better."

"It can?" My lips twitched. "I see. OK kiddo, let's go back to bed. I'll tuck you in again, but this time you have to stay there. I'll see you in the morning. Now Mummy needs to get some sleep so her cold will go away."

By this time it was almost nine; thanks to the deeply medicated state I was in, I drifted off quickly and woke only once, near five, to swallow some more codeine for the sore throat. (It was that sore.) In the morning I staggered into the kitchen, where Frances was eating her multigrain cereal. "Good morning, sweetie."

"Mummy! Are you feeling better?"

"Not yet." I pulled her on to my lap. "How are you feeling? Do you have any owwies?"

"No."

"If you feel any owwies in your throat, you tell S or C, ok?"

"OK. Mummy, can I give you a hug? It will help you feel better." She wrapped her arms around my neck and thumped me vigorously on the back. "There! Do you feel better now?"

"That was a great hug, sweetie. It made me very happy."

"But are you still sick?"

"Yes, I am. But that's ok. It will go away in a few days."

"Should I give you another hug?"

"You should eat your breakfast. You can give me another hug before we leave, though."

"OK. It will make you feel better."

"Yes, it will."

Posted by Andrea at April 20, 2007 6:32 AM under Frances Friday

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