Oh Leafy,

You were sick yesterday, and snuggled ferociously in that hot-headed way that you have when you are feverish.

Before I realized you weren't feeling well, I told you that your pacifier, or Ny-ny, as you have named it, was for bedtime, and I put it away. While I was folding clothes and not paying attention, you took matters into your own hands, dragging a chair into your bedroom, climbing onto it so you could reach the dresser, and grabbing all of the pacifiers out of the container that I keep them in. When I next looked up, you were sitting at the kids' table with a pacifier in your mouth and two in your little hands, just in case.

You barely let me out of your sight, yesterday, sick baby that you were, you chose to hang onto my legs, or simply follow me around, and so we sat together a lot, you facing me on my lap, laying your head on my chest. If my attention was directed at anything other than you, you simply put your fingers on my face and turned my head back towards you. If I could replicate the feeling of your hot little hands on my cheeks, gentle but determined, or the sight of your very serious brown eyes above that little pacified mouth, oh Leafy, I would. I would just carry those memories around in my pockets to pull out when I was feeling sad.  Nothing makes my heart happier.

We sat and tried to catch specks of dust, and it made you laugh, again and again, as lousy as you felt. The glittering air kept evading us, and you yelled, "Sparkles! Sparkles!" over and over. Your games last forever.

It's amazing to me, this talking that you do. The other day we were sitting around over dinner and you turned to me and said, "I love you, Mom-mee." And I thought, "It speaks in full sentences?"

You are some kind of guy. And I am one happy Mama, even when we are glued together all day, on a sick day, on a day that you need me a little more than most. Especially then.