Tiny Feet in My Neck
There were feet in my neck. Tiny feet in my neck. I, lying parallel to my wife. 'A' lying perpendicular.
When 'X' was born, a colleague gave me a book called Father's and Son's. A short book, with random pages of advice for fathers with son's. The one piece of advice I remember was "Never let them sleep in your bed. Always comfort them in their own room." And yet, there we were. Tiny feet in my neck.
A virus had been spinning like a roulette wheel through our home for about two weeks. Randomly landing on each persons number. Everyone wins a fever and some body aches. My number was called first, then 'X', then 'H', by the time it got to 'A' I thought I had a pretty good system of comforting and medicating.
'A' is the middle and maybe the strongest, but I am pretty sure my toddler got a grown man cold. His fever would rise and drop, causing him to go through hot and cold flashes. He would fight you on taking medicine when he was warm, but would pop up for a rendition of E-I-E-I-O when he felt better. Needless to say he destroyed my system.
'A' woke up crying in his crib. He had gotten to warm. I pulled him out of his room to change his clothes to something cooler, trying to avoid waking 'X' or 'H' with the squeaking hedge of the bedroom door. Once 'A' was changed and cool he was ready to party, even though it was already 1 am.
Attempting to put 'A' back in their room alert and awake, was like placing a gong in a library with a sign that read, please strike after every chapter. In comes my genius, despite my conviction to this point and clearly sound advice of a clever book. I decide to bring 'A' into our room until he settles down and goes back to sleep.
First, I should say I succeeded in my thought, 'A' went back to sleep. Second, I should say I failed in my execution, because well 'A' went back to sleep.
There we were. Fever gone, small toddler breaths and snores, and a tiny human with complete disregard for humanity, lying perpendicular to me with his tiny feet in my neck.