Ten hours with the child, when his or her condition is usually vulnerable, makes you look at things differently.
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I stayed with a sick child at home this week. This is not surprising, of course, as soon as the cold season begins, we all get a decent dose of quality time with our children in a small, enclosed space when they are in a very dependent position.
No, it wasn't going to be a column for me at all, the boy was actually quite fine, and this day with him was not much harder than a normal day's work, in physical work really not easy. But really, what I wanted to say is that ten hours with the child, when his condition is more vulnerable than usual, can make you look at things a little differently.
For example, I noticed that these prostrations on the floor I hate so much (I nowadays call it a "tantrum") are just their desperate way of expressing themselves, when we have no idea what they're trying to say. Oddi tried to tell me something, but his voice was weak and I didn't understand anything. He looked at the floor, as if he knew he was now going to flush, but he didn't have the energy to even cry a normal cry, so he decided to give up. There is a situation in the next tantrum that I would just be happy to have a healthy child.
In addition, I found that obscure sentences, typical of the early years of brain development, sound much better when the child lies in bed with a pale face and a dreamy look. For example, "Dad, is it today one day before the sun rises in the morning?" I kiss him, tears begin to creep down my throat at the picture that comes to my mind, where he invites me to the first book signing status, and then I suddenly realize that what he actually said is that today is coming tomorrow. That's true, and maybe not even obvious to a 3-year-old, but I should probably wait a bit with the tickets to Stockholm.
At some point he started to feel better. He got out of bed, ate two whole size XL eggs and demanded to play soccer with me outside. I have no idea who inherited this wonderful immune system, I usually go on sick leave two weeks after I forget how it feels to be healthy. I played with him for a bit outside, the sun came out to visit after a freezing morning, and for a moment I felt like I was the kid who got schooled.
Things just kept getting better. After we finished football following an event where we surrendered to the naturalists (I went in my mudguards into a mud puddle), the boy fell asleep, and I experienced a magical parents moment when I realized that thanks to the combination of the game outside and the pile of drugs I gave him, it would take him a long time to wake up.
The next day the sun rose after the previous day was over, Oddi returned to kindergarten and I to work. The faces at work were with their usual smiles on them, really no claim, but I suddenly felt like playing soccer outside with kippy shoes, regardless of the mud and nothing.
After you have had children you are quite from Sundel. One day you're with them, wondering between yourself and what you really mean by "shaking," and the next day you find yourself missing that exact day. That's exactly what they are: they have become an integral part of us, for better or worse, and absolute freedom from time to time will no longer return. Anyone else want Tantrum?
