I’ve got a miserable 3-year-old on my hands today. She spiked a fever last night out of nowhere (though I guess that’s how it usually happens, right?) and woke up before the sun just not herself, toasty as could be, with a “hot potato” voice (the pediatrician’s words—let’s just say Phoebe Buffay would be jealous).
As I write this she’s sound asleep on the couch beneath a Winnie-the-Pooh comforter that belonged to me as a child, arms wrapped tightly around her three, yes three, blankies and a stuffed lion named Louie (who is, I am often reminded by an offended preschooler, a girl—pay no attention to the mane).
Earlier today I dragged her, hot to the touch and eyelids drooping, to the doctor for a quick strep test. It was negative, thank Goodness, leaving no clear explanation for her symptoms—you know, just the old “probably a virus” diagnosis. As we got up to leave, I was handed an information sheet about “fever phobia” and I tried my best not to be insulted. All we moms can do is trust our instincts, right?
The doctor visit seemed to have a placebo effect, and she had brightened a bit by the time we pulled back into our neighborhood. “Will you please turn the music up, Mommy?” she croaked.
I glanced back at her over my shoulder and smiled at her sweetness and deliberate use of good manners when she clearly didn’t feel well. Her eyes lit up: “This song is from church!”
I turned the volume up two notches and started to sing along, like I always do:
“Bless the Lord, oh my soul
oh my soul.
Worship His holy name.”
And then I heard the tiniest raspy voice join me from the back in whisper-song, with everything she had:
“Sing like never before,
oh my soul.
I’ll worship Your holy name.”
Only seven left in this Write 31 Days series—catch up on the rest here!
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