Poor Olivia is not well. And she has no voice. I guess the upside is that it's been a bit quieter around here. Or maybe that's a downside.
She hasn't been eating much, so I asked her what she'd like for dinner. When she barely managed to whisper "broccoli", I thought it an odd choice, but I steamed her some and heated up some nuggets to go along. She barely touched her plate, and after a steamy shower, she was quite content to snuggle in my arms with a dreamy smile on her face, seemingly pleased with herself that mommy was suckered into dressing her, head-to-toe.
She was well enough before bedtime to push her little brother off the couch headlong into the coffee table, and she was well enough to saunter in sheepishly five minutes later to hug him and whisper she was sorry. But when she didn't budge from my lap even after we heard daddy starting the after-bath routine with Sean-Peter, I knew my little"'ia" was not wholly well.
John has never been exactly up to par with his nursery rhymes, but sometime when Olivia was quite small he started this routine of wrapping her up in her bath towel and swinging her by the ends and singing his version of "Rock-a-bye Baby".
In Daddy's arms
If I let go
You will be harmed
I love my 'ia
'ia loves me
Often this ritual, which occurs after almost every bath, has Olivia and Sean-Peter vying for their turn and shrieking. Then ends when Sean-Peter pees on the towel or John's arms give out, whichever comes first.
But not tonight. Olivia didn't budge when she heard John in the other room with her little brother. "I love Sean-Pe-ter..." And every night since we've been in this house she has begged for someone to lie down with her, which usually results in her daddy taking an evening nap. But tonight she just rolled over, and when I checked on her she was sawing logs, like a chip off the old daddy block. Only she's got this yucky cold to blame. Poor little thing.
March 30, 2012
1 year ago