Baby bear

When your kid is sick, the mama bear instinct kicks in. You know, the one where the mother bear rears up to protect her cub against perceived danger? Or in my case, makes me want to make them comfortable, so they have fond memories of getting to stay home with Mommy, even if they feel lousy.

Little One spiked a fever last night, like so many of his classmates this time of year. We had anticipated it, as he had been a bit grumpy (or whiny when my sugar level dropped) these past few days. Still, my Mama bear instinct revved up.

I am a firm believer in the wisdom of the fever: it is there for a purpose, the body's way of fighting the pathogen. I want to support the child, and let his body do the work intended. I work to make him more comfortable: Cuddling, reading, singing, rubbing his feet (he really likes that). Encouraging sleep. The box of only-when-you're-sick toys comes out, but he's too tired even for that. After one particularly good nap--punctuated by sitting up and asking a nonsense question, then flopping back to deep sleep again--he's actually hungry.

Every year, our venerable apple tree produces bushels of big, juicy Gravensteins. I use oodles to gel my jams, but the long September days are used to fill any remaining jars with applesauce. My mother used to call it "happysauce." This jar, labeled September 6, 2006, lives up to this moniker. Half a jar later, my little one is smiling and ready to play. For a bit, that is. A scant fifteen minutes later, he curls up to sleep some more.

The fever will break eventually, and I know he'll be fine, probably more grown-up afterwards. But for today, I give him the best a mama bear can: love and happysauce.