Anna had a nasty cold this past weekend,
When we put her to bed she was feeling warm, but she’d already been dosed with Tylenol, so off she went with a cup of water and instructions to call me if she needed anything. (at which point Anna piped up with, “What about me? I’m sick too!”) Around 11:30 she woke up crying, miserable, and burning up. Into bed with me she went, with more Tylenol and cool wet wash cloths and lullabyes and back rubbing. I got her comfy (She was being a total bed hog – I spent the night on the outer 6″ of the mattress curled up with the Little Toaster that Could; Parenthood means not minding sleeping with a little vector of disease breathing all over your face) and settled down, she flung her arm over me and said, “I’m so glad I have my family back!”
Huh? I have no idea what fever dreams were running through her head. In the morning, bright-eyed, bushy tailed, and only moderately warm, she told me she dreamed about a fly that ate a frog. Then Anna had to one-up her by claiming to have dreamed about crickets that ate people.