I am sitting on a stool, rocking my upper body slowly backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, while I'm hearing screams of joy and laughter from right outside the window. On my back is a warm little bundle of a boy who full of fever and snot and restlessness only wants to sleep when carried, and outside are the rest of them, sledging down our fields, fast fast fast on the new and very welcome snow. The sun has been shining today, but I have only seen it through my windows, and now it's getting dark already. It's the blue hour.
My baby is breathing heavily on my back. I rock, sideways too. I can hear the wood crackling in the fire downstairs. I brace myself for another sleepless night in a cocoon of cuddles with my baby.
And no matter how tired I am, or how sorry I feel for my little one right now, I know that when I'm an old woman, caring for my children when they are sick, is one of the things I will miss.
Funny, isn't it.
