Little Mister No

Cubby went to bed at 6:30 yesterday evening, in an attempt to just end the misery of the day that started at 4 a.m. and didn't really improve thereafter. I crossed fingers and toes that he would be able to stay asleep for longer than two hours at a stretch.

I guess I should have crossed my eyes, too.

At the 1 a.m. wake-up, I was determined to find something that would alleviate this suffering. Both his and mine. Thus the following conversation:

Me: Cubby, do you want some water? It might help your cough.

Cubby: No.

Me: Well, do you want to get into Mommy and Daddy's bed?

Cubby: No.

Me: Do you want to go downstairs and sleep in the guest bedroom bed with me?

Cubby: No.

Me: Do you want me to lie down with you in your bed?

Cubby: No.

Me: I have some medicine here that will help your cough (Vicks VapoRub) . . . 

Cubby: NOOOOOOO. It's feeling better already. I just need to rest a little bit more.

Me: Okay, so . . . you want to stay in your own bed by yourself and cough?

Cubby: Yes.

Right. How am I supposed to minister tenderly to a child that's still ornery and curiously contrary even when he's miserable? 

The story of my life as Cubby's mother.

P.S. One amusing moment in an otherwise very unamusing night: Around 2:30 a.m., I heard Cubby straight-up yelling in his room. This sounded to me more like a bad dream than anything sickness related, so, being pretty done for at this point, I sent A. in to calm him down. 

A. came back into our room saying he thought maybe Cubby was having some kind of fever hallucination and that he was talking to people in his room. I got up to talk to Cubby and feel his forehead. It was a little warm, but nothing remarkable. When I inquired, he told me he had a very bad dream. About Charlie taking his toys. He was yelling at Charlie in his sleep. A nightmare indeed, and very logical in light of the fact that Charlie's reaction to Cubby's unaccustomed weakness has been unrestrained glee and bullying. More on that later.