~ Part 1 ~
One week ago at 3:20 a.m. our sick daughter joined us in bed.
Last night, it was 4:00 a.m. when Gideon came howling down the stairs, needing someone to “sweep wif.”
But not because he was lonely.
He was sick.
My Dad is a hypochondriac. I am a hypochondriac. And you guessed it…
Gid the Kid is a hypoCHONdriac.
We first started noticing symptoms of this humorous “disease” when he was just over a year old.
Gideon quickly acquired his vocabulary and was piecing sentences together at a fairly early age.
But the sentences he chose to use first displayed to us what exactly he planned on using his newfound freedom of speech for: to voice some long-held complaints.
It started with “I’m tired,” escalating into an entire bag of complaints to choose from at any given moment: “I’m cold,” “I’m hot,” “I’m hungry,” “I’m sick,” and our personal favorite that we heard for a good year, “I don’t wike that.”
It didn’t matter if he was sick, or if it was a color that didn’t suit him, or a food or drink that he didn’t find palatable, it was simply negated or shot down with “I don’t wike that.”
For Gideon, and this is probably the case with many growing children, becoming accumstomed to the many dangers, toils, and snares that this world has to offer has been tumultuous, to say the least.
For instance, hiccups absolutely slay him. I’ve tried to explain to him that hiccups can be fun (yay!) if you let them, but he’ll have none of that nonsense, and rather, chooses to wail, “I need, hiccup, somefin’ to make me, hiccup, feeeeeeel better! Hiccup!”
A good loud “Boo!!”? Nope.
Holding his breath? Huh-uh.
But I have found that a big spoon of peanut butter does the trick. Even if the hiccups linger, he is placated by the novelty of licking peanut butter straight off of his eating utensil.
But hiccups are nothing compared to what Gideon calls “yucky burps.” You know, the burps that are, well…yucky?
Most people just deal with them quietly, I suppose, but “yucky burps” cause Gideon to run.
Really, he just takes off running, crying over and over again that he “had a yucky burp!!”
I don’t know where he is going or what he has in mind as goes round and round the living room and kitchen in utter agony, but he eventually runs it off and returns to his normal (“normal”) activities.
Somewhere near the end of his second year, Gideon’s tummy or his legs would hurt and the “pain” was so great it made him actually walk backwards.
“My legs hurt!” he would cry. “Its makin’ me go backwards!!”
Always said as he was, indeed, walking backwards.
Lately he has had a bad case of the “crinkly toes” which is a mystery to his Papa and me, as sometimes it occurs when he has shoes and socks on, but can also strike when he is barefoot.
We just rub his foot a bit, until his toes don’t feel “crinkly” anymore.
He complained of a “crinkly head” about a week ago, further explaining that his head hurt, “on the inside”, which actually ended up giving me quite a scare…
The next day, his Papa put him down for a nap before returning to the church office after lunch, and apparently, Gideon wanted to give him one more hug and one more kiss.
The only problem was that Papa was already gone, and I refused to call him to return, as this has become a habitual routine in our house.
Gideon’s sadness soon gave way to an old-school fit, the “red zone” kind that I hadn’t seen in awhile, and after his rage subsided a bit, he came to me, nearly screeching in pain that his head hurt.
Now keep in mind, I’m a hypochondriac, too, and remembering his “crinkly head” from the day before (in my mind, now a full-blown brain tumor), I studied him closely.
He was clutching his head in migraine fashion, and his eyes were glassy and so clouded by pain he couldn’t even lift them to meet mine. And he could not for the life of him stop crying. My fear mounted and I called Papa to come home right away.
Mr. Gore walked in the door…and Gideon hopped up and said “Papa, you’re home! My head hurt but it doesn’t anymore. Will you come and tuck me in?”
“I’ll show you headache…” I thought as he ascended the stairs on his Papa’s shoulders.
However, the pinnacle of all of Gideon’s ailments has come quite recently in the form of the dreaded…the awful…the God-forsaken…nosebleed!!!
Read all about it here: Part Two