Sickness, followed by another culture reset

Every major disruption to the routine requires one. There’s never a mile marker you get to and perfect order is achieved. There is a rhythm to life and when it gets off beat, you have to drum your hands a bit until the music starts to flow again. 

It took three days after our trip to Cali to reset Aria’s sleep. 

It’s taking three days to reset her after she came down with a fever three days ago. 

This is one of the painful resets. Two hours in to the middle of the night meltdown. Ten minute intervals because I am weak tonight and can’t resist the draw to go to her. 

Yesterday, after dad and I both took turns wrestling and playing with her for an hour, I fell asleep beside her, holding her hand. 

Tonight there can be no compromise. She is well and she needs the rest that a reset will afford her. It is the only way to give her full night rests every night. 

Round one, an assuring pat on the shoulders as she screams like a banshee. 

Round two, I pick her up and rock her as she thrashes like a drowning cat. I acknowledge she wants to eat or go downstairs or get a drink or do anything that involves being held and away from her crib. Her screams never stop. I leave. 

Round three, I pick her up and wrap her in a blanket. Finally her screeches turn to gasps and quiet tears. I lie her down. I hold her hand. She weeps, but is calm. I exit. Screams and moans follow me. 

Round four, I slip in and hold her hand. She reaches out and strokes my face, litte gasps and sobs escaping her worn lungs as she clutches for me. I hold on for a minute or two. Her breathing steadies, her body relaxes. I leave. Wails errupt. 

Round five. I hold her hand for a short minute. I let go, but assure her I am still there. I feel impatient for her to overcome this and hate myself for my weakness in my fatigue and with my own sore throat. It’s been an hour and a half. I leave. She laments my exit, but her tears are tired. 

I know I can’t go back in at this point, so I retreat to my blog to escape the ticking of the clock. 

Three quarters in from the post, she sleeps.  

Did I succeed? Tomorrow will tell. 

Tired. 

Reveling in the stillness. 

Still yearning to hold her. 

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