Today is Richard and my tenth wedding anniversary. For those of you who know how old our son, Nic is, it will not take long to calculate the years do not add up. This is because, Nic, at 8 months old was at our wedding, wearing a little black velvet tuxedo, with his chubby cheeks and bald head, he was adorable. Richard and I have never been ones to go the conventional route.
Richard planned a whole day of indulgences for us, today. So last night we both went to sleep early as we knew we had to get Emma up and ready to meet her ski buddy, get Nic organized before going into town to begin our day together. At around midnight both of us were woken by screams, emanating from Emma’s bedroom. In the darkness Emma’s figure could be seen standing by the window looking north east onto the upper ditches of Red Mountain.
“Emmy, what’s going on?”
“I need help!” she cried.
“Okay. Come on. Let’s sit on your bed. It’s going to be okay,” I said, as Emma pulled at her ears.
“I need help! Ears popping!” Emma screamed.
“Emma, it’s okay,” Richard said.
“Come on, baby, sit down next to me,” I instructed. “Go like this,” I told her, demonstrating a yawn.
Emma watched me, as she always does when her ears hurt from the changing weather outside. “It’s okay,” she said. Then she held her nose and blew, causing her face to turn red.
“That’s not going to help, Emma. That will only make it worse,” Richard said.
“Here. Do this,” I said, demonstrating again.
After ten minutes or so of continuous cries for help, I told Richard to go back to bed and I stayed with Emma, trying to stay calm amidst her pleas for help.
I massaged her ears, pulling gently on them, hoping it would ease the pressure a little, all the while aware of the pressure in my own ears. Emma is so incredibly sensitive to the sensations within her own body, and often they cause her great pain. I looked out the window and saw the clouds, which have enveloped the valley these past few days were lifting.
“Mommy! I need help! You have to stop screaming,” Emma said tearfully. “Belly go bang, bang.”
“Em do you have to throw up?”
“Yes, belly go bang bang,” she said running into the bathroom. We sat together in the bathroom for awhile. “Daisy! You cannot hit. I need a bandaid! You have to wash it,” Emma scripted, taking a number of older conversations and putting them together in some sort of creative medley.
“Where does it hurt, Emmy?” I asked.
“Here,” she said rubbing her chest. “I want a bandaid! I want to get into the pool. It’s broken.”
I stroked her head and brought a bowl from the kitchen to place next to her bed. I was able to get her back into her bed where she lay, occasionally whimpering. After a few hours she was able to fall asleep with me by her side.
When she woke up this morning, I said, “Let’s go see if Daddy’s awake.”
“Okay,” she said.
Upon seeing me, Richard said, “Happy Anniversary Honey.”
We laughed as Emma leapt into bed beside us. “No banging!” Emma said.
“Do you still feel sick?” I asked. “Do you feel okay, Em?”
“Yes,” Emma said pulling the sheets over her head.
Together we can do what neither one of us would want to do alone.