PDA

The little girl pictured below is sick and has been for a couple days and – God help us – nights. Tending a vomiting child is never a delight especially in the middle of the night, when you’ve already changed the sheets, been pooped on, splattered with vomit and awakened several times. Every time Eden awoke I ran to her side, stroked her head, cleaned up the mess, tucked her back in and then – per her request – slid in beside her to stay until she fell asleep. Once her breathing deepened I would creep back to the comfort of my own bed until the next awakening, of which there were many.

Both nights Paul has been up for most of the rounds but last night I let him sleep through a couple. This morning he woke first, made coffee and then woke me with a fresh cup in one of my treasured jadeite cups. I was clutching it to my chest, waiting for it to cool when Eden climbed into bed beside me, wafting a vile smell. I held it up high while she snuggled in beside me. Paul returned with his own mug and the paper.

Once I was fully awake I began to sip my coffee and took a good look at him. Despite knowing that he had showered the morning before he looked like it had been days, maybe weeks. I commented on his appearance and tried to make an algebraic equation out of his lack of sleep directly proportional to the greasiness of his hair.

“If h = hours…” but that’s as far as I could get. We both began to laugh and I fell into his arms.

“And now Daddy and Mama are going to do some kissing, Eden,” I warned. All our kids are embarrassed by any public displays of their parents’ affection.

“Oh no!” She said and turned her head away. “Why do you have to kiss so much?”

“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for our kissing!” Paul and I said in unison.

“Other people don’t kiss as much as you do!”

“Who?” I demanded.

And then she named names.

“How do you know? You aren’t around them all the time?”

She conceded the point with her silence.