So, we were all violently ill last week. I mean, I have not been so sick since I was 9 years old and we were all staying at the HoJo Inn while the hardwood floors in our house were refinished and my brother puked at Magic Mountain and I eventually pleaded with my mother to just take me to the hospital so I could die in peace. (Melodramatic? Me? Never!)

There were two graces to this recent illness though. The first was that Mark got sick about 12 hours after me, so that we each had a turn at caring for Menininho.

The second was that my son was CUDDLY again! He never really got sick, but I think just picked up on the general feeling of despair and disease. Thur. night I tucked him into bed and he just looked so serene and adorable I thought my heart was going to burst.

Friday he woke up and only wanted to be held. We laid down on the couch together and he fell asleep in my arms, nestled against me. I felt bad moving him to the crib later when I needed to get some things done. Ever since he could crawl, Menininho’s been on the go. He’s got places to go, people to see, books to read, a cat to chase, and Heaven help the person who tries to stand in his way.

I’m grateful for that little glimpse I got of him as a snuggly baby once more.

Anyone else have similar stories/feelings about the kids in their lives?