Mama! Mama.

"Mama! Mama. Mama"

I hear him from the computer room and I go to check on him. It's early morning, 2am and he's sick again.

I put my head in his room and find him in the darkness. His room lite only by his small night light and the light seeping in the the bathroom across the way. He's asleep on his tummy, knees tucked beneath him, his favorite sleeping position. He had been calling me in his sleep, like he always does when he's sick. He's a bit wrestless and I watch him for a moment.

He has kicked off his blanket. I debate the wisdom of covering him up. The slightest touch might wake him and he needs his sleep. I cover him anyway and he's immediately awake. He stands and stretches his arms up to me.

I pick him up and he rests his head on my shoulder, my right shoulder and lets the rest of his body go limp. I give him a snuggle and he's warm. Not just sleep warm, he's got a fever. I carry him to the kitchen and open the medicine cabinet and take his temperature. It's not bad, 100.1, but I take out the medicine anyway.

I'm concerned and worried. Connor hardly ever runs a fever, even when he's really sick. Is this a sign of bad things to come, or is this better, showing me that his body is fighting it? I can't decide and can feel my forehead crease in a frown.

I offer him Tylenol, cherry flavored. He tastes a bit, takes half and then shakes his head no. I offer again, he shakes his head no.

I sit on the floor, Indian style, and he sits on my calves. He loves doing that, it's like his personal baby chair, and wraps my arms around himself and leans back into me. I rock him for a minute, from side to side and give him kisses and snuggles. I decide to try again with the medicine and he shakes his head no. I try again and he shakes his head no.

"Okay sweetie, let's change your diaper and we'll try again in a minute."

We pass the drain board and he sees his favorite cup.

"Mama. Mama" he says pointing to it.

"Just a minute baby. Let's change your diaper first."

All fresh and clean, I return to the kitchen and fix him some cool water. He backs away from the cup like it's a viper. I can't for the life of me figure out why he doesn't like water. It's a rare drop that has ever passed his lips. I decide not to offer milk...not with his fever, that's just asking for trouble.

I offer the medicine again and he shakes his head no. I lean back slightly and sit on my haunches and put him on my knee. I offer again, he shakes his head no. I try soothing words and comforting sounds, but he shakes his head no.

"Sorry little man, but half isn't gonna do it. You have to take it all." I force the medicine dropper past his lips, squirt a little medicine in and he pushes it out with his tongue. I sigh, because I know what I have to do next. I tilt his head back, forcing him to stay that way and push the dropper pasts his lips. He swallows.

I wait for a moment to see if it's going to come back up. His gag reflex is very sensitive and this wouldn't be the first time I've worn his medicine. I look at him, he looks at me and rests his head on my shoulder. I wish Charles were awake. I hate forcing him to take his medicine. I'm always afraid that I'm going to choke him, or that he'll throw up, but he seems to be keeping it down okay.

I pick him up and he puts his head on my shoulder, my right shoulder this time and pats my arm.

"Night-night. Night-night"

"Yes baby. Night-night" I give him a little snuggle and rub his back and he goes limp.

We walk back to his room and I rock him and sing. I sing the ABC's, and This Little Light of Mine, and the Barney song. He squirms a bit and switches from shoulder to shoulder and I rub his back.

"Time for night-night" I whisper. I've rocked him for half an hour and he's not going to sleep.

"Night-night" he whispers back. I lay him down in his crib, on his tummy like he likes it, and he tucks his knees under him. I cover him up and tuck him in lightly and rub his back for a few seconds and tell him Night-night one more time.

He lifts his head to watch me leave the room and I expect him to cry. I wait for it while walking away, but there's no sound but him settling in and getting comfy.

I linger outside his door, just out of sight to listen to him, to make sure he's okay, and I hear him whisper "night-night" one more time and he's asleep.