The good news is that he is feeling much better. The less exciting news is that out of the other side of the illness has emerged an explosive ball of energy. Is it wrong to lament the sick days?
There is nothing that induces feelings of inadequacy and helplessness more than watching your child feel unwell and being powerless to do anything about it. Pale, writhing, not eating… I cried at the frustration of the situation, wanting him to suddenly declare that he was all better and ask to go to the playground (I’m not sure why, because I’m not the biggest fan of the playground with my limited mobility and dwindling energy reserves…). I just wanted my usual boy back. But now that he’s come through the darkness, I’m not so sure…
You see, there’s feeling better and then there is crazy. Imagine fire crackers going off inside his body and mind in a tyrade of explosions that persisted through the day. His bottom, barely sat on. His legs bruised with the consequences of hurtling himself off the furniture and throwing himself around the floor. His voice getting louder and louder and louder, rivalling the levels of a severely hearing impaired older man who refuses to wear his aids and repeats, repeats, repeats until he is acknowledged, and even when he is acknowledged. Like a run-away train transporting a ball of energy that threatens to explode at any time. That’s him.
When I think about it sensibly (which does occur occassionally) he is probably simply exhausting all that energy that wasn’t used during the three or so weeks of down time. Makes sense. That gives me about another two weeks of insanity. Of course, there’s always the possibility that he is simply an ‘active’ (seriously, that term is so obviously used to describe crazy kids, in a kinder light) little boy, fullstop. And in that case, I’ve got to find me my own firecrackers!
