Fly had a virus last week, after we returned from the Bahamas, and we spent most of last week just basically doing nothing.
And it was so, so nice.
When we finally came out of our cave, I confessed to friend Guinevere I actually enjoyed Fly getting sick. She didn't flinch, wasn't shocked, didn't gape at me or carry her child away from my toxic presence. What a friend.
She understands that Fly getting sick meant he was by my side most of the day -- on my lap or in my arms for a hug, even -- he didn't act up and I got some much-needed rest, even though I had to get up with him in the middle of the night.
It was good to know I can still soothe my boy and that he still wants his mama to be there for him.