When I learned that strep throat was circulating in my son’s second-grade class, I let out a resigned sigh—the kind of sigh that a seasoned mom makes when she anticipates the inevitable. My son, generally a picture of health, always seems to be among the first to catch it when strep makes its rounds.
True to form, two days later he was running a fever, complaining of a sore throat, and had a headache. A quick visit to the pediatrician confirmed my fears. I promptly canceled my work commitments from my phone as we left the clinic, preparing for a couple of days of nursing my under-the-weather child while the amoxicillin worked its magic.
As soon as we arrived home, my son made a beeline for the remote, his enthusiasm shining through despite his illness. In our household, being genuinely sick means unlimited screen time, so I settled beside him with my laptop, ready to tackle some emails. But just thirty minutes into The Princess Bride, something unexpected occurred.
“Mom! Can you hold my hand?” he asked, stretching out his small hand toward me.
Looking over at my eight-year-old, sprawled out on the couch, I couldn’t help but notice how much he had grown. This was the same boy who now shied away from public displays of affection, cared about his wardrobe, and opted for a trendy, spiky haircut to look “cool.” Gone were the days he needed an extra kiss or glass of water at bedtime. He was growing up so fast.
“Of course, sweetheart,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure. “Why don’t you come closer?” He scooted next to me, resting his fevered head against my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around him, cherishing the moment. It felt like a throwback to when he was a toddler, but I was wary of moving, fearing he might not want this closeness again.
We watched the entire movie together as I disregarded my laptop and phone, ignoring the pings of incoming emails. My coffee sat untouched until it turned cold, and the unwashed breakfast dishes lingered in the sink, as did the wet laundry in the washing machine.
I focused solely on the quiet joy of being beside my son, witnessing the Man in Black’s adventures as he battled Inigo Montoya and traversed the Fire Swamp, ultimately being resurrected by Miracle Max.
Once the movie concluded, my son began to fidget, so we decided to bring out the Lego bin from his room. We spent the entire afternoon constructing an impressive tower, sifting through piles of bricks to find just the right pieces. I only tapped my phone to send a quick message to my husband about my son’s fever breaking.
After completing the Lego masterpiece, we ordered some comforting chicken soup and I read aloud to him, delighting in three chapters of Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. It was undoubtedly one of the most enjoyable days I had shared with him in ages.
When my husband returned with our other two children, who had spent the day at a friend’s house, I felt a pang of regret that our special time together was ending. While I was thrilled to see my other kids, I was slightly melancholic about breaking the spell of that magical day filled with connection.
It felt as though I had pressed pause on my adult responsibilities, while my son had momentarily forgotten his need to play it cool. It brought me back to when he was my only child, the center of my universe, but now he was older, wittier, and more engaging in entirely different ways. That day shifted my perspective on him, allowing me to bond with him in fresh and meaningful ways.
I sensed he felt the same. That night, as I tucked him into bed, he kissed me on the cheek without prompting and said, “Thanks for an awesome day, Mommy,” before drifting off to sleep.
This morning, I sent him back to school, the antibiotics having done their job. I sipped my coffee as he laced up his favorite sneakers and packed his homework. At drop-off, he gave me his usual one-armed hug and rushed off toward his friends without looking back. He was cool again, and I knew he would only become cooler with time.
Yet, I couldn’t help but smile as I walked home, returning to my laptop and daily routine. I know there are still a few moments left where my son might hold my hand.
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Summary:
Sometimes, a sick day can turn into a hidden jewel of connection between a parent and child. Amidst the chaos of everyday responsibilities, those moments of closeness can remind us of the bond we share, even as our children grow older and more independent.