Summary: Poor little girl is sick in bed, and Daddy needs to take care of her.

Spring is a lovely time but also the worst time of year. Flowers bloom, the sun shines, baby animals peek out of their dens. But at the same time, noses run, eyes burn, and heads pound. The fact that it was the first truly warm day of the year made my cold feel a million times worse.

“Daddy, please! I just want to play outside for a little bit!” My crummy insides are making me feel brattier than usual, so I’m begging even though I know I won’t get my way. “I promise I’ll come back after — ” my pleas are interrupted by a sneeze, which I try to covertly hide in my arm. You can’t help but grin at me – you think my sneezes are adorable, for some mysterious reason.

“Princess, you’re sick. You — ”

“I’m NOT SICK!” I kick my legs angrily, pouting up at you as you lean over the bed.

“Hmm. You sound sick – your voice is all honky and you just sneezed on me. You look sick – your eyes are puffy and red. And you definitely feel sick.” You gently feel my forehead with the back of your hand, nodding as if agreeing with yourself. I pout, knowing I can’t win this argument. And really, I know I won’t have too much fun outside anyway. I do feel quite awful.

“I’ll be right back, Babygirl.” A soft kiss on my forehead makes me feel a little better; I snuggle up with White Bear and try to get comfortable. Just as my eyes start to droop, you return with a pharmacy bag. “I went to the store this morning,” you answer my question before I can ever ask it. “We’ll get this little princess up and running before you know it. Now sit up, Baby. Time for some medicine.” I nearly yell in protest as you pull cough syrup out of the bag, my eyes instantly tearing and my lips scrunching in disgust.

“Please, please, please, please!! No yucky cough medicine, Daddy! Please!”

You can tell I’m getting overwhelmed and anxious, so you pull me close into your arms. “Shhh, little girl, it’s alright. I know how tough it is to be sick. Just one big gulp and then you can have some Gatorade. I got orange flavor, look!” I peek out from your arms and sigh dejectedly at the sippy cup you’ve pulled out of the bag. “Come on now, try to be a brave girl. You’ll feel so much better.”

You pour the awful liquid into the little plastic cup and rub my back, holding it up to my lips. “Open up, Baby.” I reluctantly part my lips, wriggling and whining the whole way. Seeing your chance, you quickly pour the contained into my mouth. You know me too well – before I can spit the syrup back out, you gently grasp my jaw and hold my mouth close until I swallow. I do the inevitable and gasp out a half sob. “Good girl! I’m so proud of you. Not so bad, right? Don’t cry Baby, come here.” You pull me down into your lap and I don’t resist as your ease the sippy cup into my mouth, happy to have yummy Gatorade to wash out the horrid taste in my mouth.

The combination of the sippy cup, my position in your lap, and your warm hands slowly rubbing my chest and tummy quickly helps me relax, and soon the little incident with the cough syrup is a memory drifting away like a puff of smoke. I am still sniffling and whining a bit, but I already feel better and half of my complaints are just for show. Secretly, I love being taken care of. The feeling of melting into your arms, giving in to your security and protection, is blissful and I don’t want it to end. It seems that you either don’t realize I’m exaggerating, or you don’t care – you continue to caress me and rock me a bit, quietly whispering reassurances. “What a sweet little girl I have, so brave taking her medicine, letting her Daddy take care of her…that’s a good girl, just relax. Let Daddy take care of you; poor sick baby…” I’m barely hearing your soft mumbles as my eyes once again begin to droop shut.

I’m only half aware of my surroundings as you lay me down onto our bed as gently as you can. I sigh in protest but am instantly soothed as you cuddle White Bear into my awaiting arms. “Open your legs up for me, sleepy girl. I think a wet bed would make a sick girl much sicker, don’t you?” Your soft words are like a tranquilizer; I feel myself assuming the ever familiar position without consciously making the choice to do so. You seem to spend a little extra time rubbing baby powder into my shaved skin, slowly massaging my skin with your warm palms. Once you are satisfied, you pull a thick disposable diaper around my waist and snugly tape it down. You kiss my belly and then scoot up to kiss my nose, and finally snuggle into the covers behind me, pulling me in close into your arms.

It’s a long night and it’s hard to think you get much sleep with all my coughing, sniffles, and tossing about. My fever spikes a few times, but you are vigilant – brining a cool town to rub into my chest, spoon feeding me more terrible medicine, and rocking me back to sleep when I wake myself up coughing. Usually you won’t change my diaper during the night, but I’m so overloaded with fluids that I wet to the point of leaking a few times. That, and you also feel a bit sorry for me in my pitiful state, and you want me to be as comfortable as I can be in my forlorn circumstance.

We wake up late – sun beams waking us up closer to lunch than to breakfast. “How are you feeling, Princess?” Your voice is weary but concerned. I don’t answer at first, simply nudging myself closer into your chest.

“Daddy, I think I need more medicine…” You sigh – not out of frustration but out of exhaustion – and start to pull yourself up to yet another trip to the kitchen. I grab onto your waist before you can get up, giggling a little bit. “No Daddy – the medicine I need is right here!” I yank myself up, using your shoulders to anchor me, and give you a quick peck on the cheek. You smile in relief, happy to see your baby girl starting to get back to herself, and cuddle back down into the warm blankets.