It never fails for me - when I have a rough day with one of my little people, I tend to have a rough night as well.
After Monday's debacle with the toothpaste (and the letters on her wall, and the whatever else happened that day), Lucy woke up at 3 a.m. sick as can be. She was congested, she was coughing so hard she almost threw up, and she was bawling. I don't blame her. I wanted to as well.
Once I got her settled down, I rocked her and thought she'd go back to sleep. Ummmmmm, NO. My sweet darling was soaking up the uninterrupted mommy-time and was awake for at least three hours. I rocked her. I laid down with her in the recliner. I snuggled her on the couch. I rocked her again. All to no avail. The child would look like a tiny sleeping cherub, and as soon as I would think about laying her down, her eyes would pop open. "Mommy, why don't we have Skittles anymore?" Or, "Who do you think is the prettiest baby doll?" And then, "Mommy, I need a drink. I'm about to sneeze. I have to go potty." I finally just put her back into her bed with at least ten kisses and headed to the couch to sleep for an hour and a half before she just got up for the day.
And then she was sweet (sick) sunshine for the day. She was snuggly. She was cheerful. But she was running a fever and running out of steam more and more. And I genuinely felt bad for her, all the while enjoying my little punkin at her most precious.
So now it's Wednesday and she is feeling a little better. Still running a fever, but it's creeping down. She is building with Legos in Milo's room, dressed in a dance costume and singing at the top of her lungs with her little hoarse voice.
Every day is a challenge, and I'm just hoping today's challenge doesn't involve toilet paper or toothpaste (although it's already involved oatmeal sneezed all in my hair).