True Love

I've been sleeping with another guy recently. In my bed, in his bed, in the office chair, on the couch and on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. And, I definitely know what true love is now. It's when you are lying on the bathroom floor, with a folded up towel for a pillow, listening to your three-year-old's labored breathing, congested nose, and exclamations of, "I gotta fro up now."

True love is resting your head on the side of the bathroom door while your baby sleeps, finally, at four a.m., and while you practically fall asleep sitting up, and you're so exhausted it reminds you of the days when you were up every other hour the first weeks you brought him home from the hospital.

It's being patient when the kid screams at you not to touch him, or to leave him alone, when all he really wants is you right there by his side, to comfort him. It's holding a cold cloth to his head while he gags into the toilet, and cries because it hurts so much not to feel well.

It's using your own sleeve to wipe his nose, and not showering for 48 hours because there is no time for you to do so. It's not eating regular meals, and doing whatever you can to get liquids down your baby so he doesn't get dehydrated. It's when he is finally feeling a little bit better that he can say, "I have to tell you a secret," and he brings you down close to his mouth, his sick little mouth whose teeth haven't been brushed since Friday morning, and he whispers into your ear, "I love you forty-one." (Apparently, that's A LOT in a three-year-old's mind.)

And it's cutting this blog short because I can hear the stuffy, sick little guy calling for me right now.