About six months ago, Angus started dreaming. Of course, he didn't realise it was dreaming, but both Scott and I knew the fantastic nocturnal tales he spoke of, were exactly that. I will always remember the first. With wide eyed wonder, early one morning, he announced to me that, "last night there were ladies dancing in my room Mama". One part of me, a little uneasy, the other part, just bursting to bottle his cuteness and keep it with me forever. Since then, he has entertained us with a host of wonderful stories, including dogs nibbling his toes, huge waves outside his window and the most recent, a cat... who sits on the chest of drawers in my room AND doesn't wear any pants! Who knew cats wore pants?!
The last few nights, the poor little guy has been restless. The terrible cough he had a few weeks back, has made a return. It's a horrible, hacking, disturbing cough. We know it too well. He ends up in our room, on a large cushion next to our bed. Scott has dubbed him 'the labrador'. Which I think is kind of fitting, given how he wanders in, not making a fuss and curls up right next to my side of the bed. But tonight, we are on the lounge. In an attempt to curb the coughing fits, I am keeping him upright and as comfortable as possible.
I don't think I've ever known tiredness, like I have since having children. A couple of hours ago, I was watching something nondescript on tele. Next thing I know, I'm waking up with a 20+ kilo child on my lap, snoring soundly, Scott has gone to bed and the opening credits of Titanic are rolling across the screen in front of me. No concept of time or how long I've been laying in that spot. When one of my darling boys is suffering like Angus is at the moment, routine turns upside down. How I hope he finds his way back to the land of sweet dreams, really soon.